sitting in a cafe and I listen to some soul
hidden temporarily from the world outside cold
writing is my salvation and my only goal
my disposition is sadly neither courageous nor bold.
I reflect on the day and events gone by
I struggle with my fears and of course I try
I total up my losses and I have stopped asking why
Am I honest to myself or is this another lie.
I miss my family and I missed my friend
But I miss my writing the most and thats all in the end
For people come and people will go
But words once written wont change from coal to snow
Surrounded by technology and served by no one
I think I am an expert but I have barely begun
To chronicle these daily imagined pain
And sit in a cafe and listen to some music again