Funny how things are usually not funny
Forever tiptoeing on the sidelines
Kicking the dirt as I look up once in a while and feel no less an outcast
Go play with the other kids they used to say
But how? Why would they want to do that?
Today as then, feeling an invisible barrier between me and the world
Still somewhat withdrawn, still somewhat in my shell
Still incomplete
Asking me what's wrong is like trying to use a lighter when the fuel has run out
Pointless and frustrating
The root of the problem is so deeply buried under the mountain that is every failure and every sadness and mythical unturned rocks that may or may not exist.
You could catch me when I fall but I may keep falling
Landing nowhere and everywhere at the same time, an implosion within an explosion
I cannot tell if I've been moving too fast or if everything else has while I stood still
Getting lost within the shoulda woulda coulda's, being left with my hands still empty
The desire to escape persists as does the burn up in ash and nicotine
Go play with the other kids they used to say
I never did really
For the times I've kicked a ball around, I couldn't tell you if I was running home or walking the plank
Then again, I couldn't tell you where home is
Funny how things are usually not funny
Forever tiptoeing on the threshold of nothing in particular
Kicking the dirt as I look up once in a while and feel no more at ease than I do at home
Forever tiptoeing on the sidelines
Kicking the dirt as I look up once in a while and feel no less an outcast
Go play with the other kids they used to say
But how? Why would they want to do that?
Today as then, feeling an invisible barrier between me and the world
Still somewhat withdrawn, still somewhat in my shell
Still incomplete
Asking me what's wrong is like trying to use a lighter when the fuel has run out
Pointless and frustrating
The root of the problem is so deeply buried under the mountain that is every failure and every sadness and mythical unturned rocks that may or may not exist.
You could catch me when I fall but I may keep falling
Landing nowhere and everywhere at the same time, an implosion within an explosion
I cannot tell if I've been moving too fast or if everything else has while I stood still
Getting lost within the shoulda woulda coulda's, being left with my hands still empty
The desire to escape persists as does the burn up in ash and nicotine
Go play with the other kids they used to say
I never did really
For the times I've kicked a ball around, I couldn't tell you if I was running home or walking the plank
Then again, I couldn't tell you where home is
Funny how things are usually not funny
Forever tiptoeing on the threshold of nothing in particular
Kicking the dirt as I look up once in a while and feel no more at ease than I do at home
