When a heroís dashed in front of your eyes?
Death of the story you once held so dear.
So you found the light, and it was only darkness,
You clung to her till you had to let go,
fighting the surface for one breath of air.
They told you be your own
And you thought you that you were
But I know he deceived you
you thought you were a piece of something greater,
but now thatís dead and what stood so tall
was only the reflection of something wilted
in a circus mirror
ĖDonít wanna be a piece of something like that do you
was I ever a piece of the monster?
No--he rejected you, by taking you in
Now you are alone, and you think thatís where you wanna be.
Beauty is not in the eye of the beholder
But in perception
And what Iíve seen--and how I have seen it--can change
My eyes still tell me that something is there
I can still see her face and her eyes and itís all very clear
But the glimmer was felt and it diminishes now
Only to find that it isnít gone entirely
But transferred to the eyes which saw it once
What I perceived in you was what I loved in myself
But I canít stop holding onto what still rings true,
though now my banished naivety
Proves that Ignorance is bliss, but bliss isnít joy
I found that by closing my eyes, I canít see the monster
Then one day it came and nibbled on my toe.
So I drew in a breath, and then I drew away,
Open is dangerous, but it makes us less likely prey
Thought I heard a mocking bird
So it never did nothiní to hurt anyone
Just sang to you now, but
OPEN your ears, girl, listen to its song
Mocking bird mocks you Ė Well what did you expect
So you gonna kill it now? Ėwonít stop the echo
The sky is laughing, so pick out a cloud . . .
itíll halt on your tongue
Gonna trick me again.
Well thatís what you thought, canít sneak up behind me
if Iíve eyes in the back of my head
Fear is a good thing they told you they told you
What didnít they tell you now? Eh?
What didnít they? . . .I told you. . .
But you didnít listen to me
Is that what they told now? Yeah, well, they told you wrong
Shoulda listened girl, shoulda listened
I hate it now that I hate you now
Wish I had some bliss to hold on to
But you let that go, and it flew from my hands
Then I had to kill it. . .ífore it mocked me again.
Where you gonna go when your castle falls down?
Well my tower is crumbling . . . gonna crush me as it tumbles
Still donít get it, still donít know how.
The bells started ringing.
Camelotís gone and The queen ran away
with your favorite knight.
Bells are still ringing, and Arthur is dead
Your great king died, whatís worse is
your hero proved just as wretched as the rest of them
Where does that leave you?
You tried to get to the top of mount Fuji,
Just to find that youíve risen to sea level.
Whoís gonna boost you up now
Whoís gonna make you fly
Since your wings turned out to be what was holding you down,
Who are you when the mirror cracks.
You tried to reflect your hero,
But what do you do when a heroís dashed in front of your eyes?
So everything you tried to be wasnít what you wanted to be
And everyone you wanted to love denied your desire to love all of them
That leaves you with just yourself.
And for every time the hero told you to just be yourself,
you thought you were listening, but really
You were just trying to be the hero.
And then the hero was dashed in front of your eyes
And all the was left was yourself,
And then you listend, yeah, then you listened
And there was nothing left of the mocking bird
And nothing left for her to sing.
Confusion seems to be my closest companion right now. And while I have always agreed with Emerson in that ďthere is no companion so companionable as Solitude,Ē it is that solitude which has brought me so close to the brink of insanity. I canít stand it anymore. I am forced to live within myself, and every escape only brings me right back to where I started. Wishing is never futile. Only hoping. Many times the very act of wishing something has caused my wish to come true. Wishing forces me to accept what I want and after that penny sinks to the bottom, after the star falls from the sky, after the minute of wishing is over, thereís no going back. The propelling action of a wish is the only thing we have to wish for. Hoping, on the other hand, is dangerous. To hope is to leave everything to the forces of fate. To hope is become vulnerable. To hope is to risk, and I have learned that risking is too dangerous. . . or perhaps, not dangerous enough. I have hoped before, and I have failed. I shall only host hope in my heart so long as it earns its stay. The moment it proves false I shall leave it subject to the virulent winds of the harsh reality which forced it out. Never Forever, still echoing. . .still chasing itself, each other, myself, throughout the endlessly perpetuated tunnels of hope. . .False Hope. . .
Mine is a burden of pain. Of endless, acute, blissful pain. I canít let go of it, I feed on it. I cry out into its empty recesses, longing for it to release me. The inevitable cloud of doom, looming over me, I know itís coming, why bother to escape it. So much pain. And nothing can prevent its return. It laughs, wickedly, in my face, and I just wait for it to pass, but the pulse still beats. I hear it in my head, in my veins as it pounds in my heart, I feel it, like a rippling wake of enormous proportion, growing, gathering strength and washing over me, drowning me, and I CANĒT BREATHE. And then it passes, but I still feel it. . .itís still there. I scream in its laughing face, begging it to just engulf me, take me completely, destroy me! Just leave me be afterwards. Fate, do what you will, then leave me to myself, So I can stop trying to hide from you, instead Iím only hiding from myself, and from every escape, and then it is just you and I. I am cornered, my screams are swallowed in the silence and I have to hang my head. Ripping, Tearing, Forcing me apart. No one notices, Iím still hiding. . .from the pain. . .hah! What a funny Idea. Like hiding from your shadow. Itís ALWAYS there, it grows as the light dims. The only time it leaves you is when you are surrounded by complete darkness, but thatís not anything but a greater, all consuming shadow. . .right? The wind is my companion. I run with it, chasing it to that refuge which seems forever in the distance. The wind, it rushes into me, filtering me through its gentle, forceful fingers.
Step into this sphere, go on, donít be scared. Itís only going take away your freedom Strip you of every possible moment of joy that we never saw for your future ANYWAYS So itís not that hard, just the hardest thing youíve ever done. Just step in with me, Iím lonely in here, I canít get out, and neither will you once youíre here, And thatís INEVITABLE Once again Iím sitting alone without a purpose to begin with Here in this place, I donít know where. And somewhere in this vast universe youíre standing in the rain, content to breathe your surroundings in. And here am I, locked in this cage of my own devices, without a word to say to you If I could just pick up the phone, but you probably wouldnít answer Youíre still too busy standing out in the rain. Layers of hope so thick they suffocate my reality and torture me with undesirable affection from the last string of sanity I was gripping it so tightly I donít think I can let go, even though itís slipped out of my hands so long ago already, but itís no matter, I didnít need it anyways. Or maybe I do, but just donít know it yet, or never will, maybe Iíve known all along, and thatís my problem, I didnít realize it until it was too LATE and now Iím caught inside this unneeded protection. Once again Iím sitting alone without a purpose to begin with Here in this place, I donít know where. And somewhere in this vast universe youíre standing in the rain, content to breathe your surroundings in. And here am I, locked in this cage of my own devices, without a word to say to you If I could just pick up the phone, but you probably wouldnít answer Youíre still too busy standing out in the rain. So here it goes, one last attempt, I know it will all end now, but thatís ok, every time Its over I find its just begun so I look back one more time, not the last, and jump through every barrier into the wide emptiness Iíd fled from for so long, embracing it with all the fluency this echoing silence can provide to this poor little circus girl, living a life not her own, she NEVER had one. And now Iím grabbing the scraps youíve left behind to piece them together in a massive attempt at some strange endeavor Iíll never understand where you got your name, but it doesnít matter, havenít you figured that out yet? I guess youíre not so clever after all, maybe I am too, but what have we learned from all this, ah, yes, so now weíll proceed to separate into this last moment of solitary togetherness and every paradox that governed my existence will shut out the logic I was made of, but none of that matters now, none of it matters ĎCAUSE Once again Iím sitting alone without a purpose to begin with Here in this place, I donít know where. And somewhere in this vast universe youíre still standing in the rain, content to breathe your surroundings in. And here am I, locked in this cage of my own devices, without a word to say to you If I could just pick up the phone, but you probably wouldnít answer Youíre still too busy standing out in the rain. Step into this sphere, go on, donít be scared. Itís only going take away your freedom Strip you of every possible moment of joy that we never saw for your future ANYWAYS So itís not that hard, just the hardest thing youíve ever done. Just step in with me, Iím lonely in here, I canít get out, and neither will you once youíre here, And thatís INEVITABLE
Who am I kidding? Thereís no way out of this. I am a prisoner to my own existence. If there was only a way to erase my place from the universe. So that I never was, never am, never will be. Pain is so close, If I move an inch itíll collide into my heart, if I breathe, itíll fill my lungs. I close my eyes to block out the pain, but the images are only clearer. Searing, branding the hurt so deep itíll never leave me, ever. Never Forever. Echoing. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .I want it all to stop!!! Just stop, just let me free, release me, PLEASE, Iím begging, someone, anyone, I donít even care who. Wait, yes I do, the thought of you makes my skin crawl. Oh, thatís right, youíre the reason Iím in so much pain. So Iíve traded myself in for this pain. Iíd rather have it than you, anyways. . . itís a no win situation.
I have nothing to say, just empty words as hollow as my existence, this shell of a meaningless state, this false exterior. A blank mind cluttered with rows and rows of cataloged memories, ideas, nothings just floating around in no particular order, with no reference to each other, to me, to you. Really, there is no reference in any of this at all, but maybe thatís why we like it so much. Its somewhat taboo, and yet, not even worth classifying as such. Perhaps I should study myself, the world, philosophy. But I donít want to. And thatís the best reason of all, because its not a good enough one. And I donít care. I find strange pleasure in sitting here, talking to myself and to you and to God. My own sort of prayer, my own sort of speech. Iíve never cared much for a regimen that has any sort of order. So I laugh at myself and wonder if someone could help me understand myself, but then again, Iíd just scare them off. All the better. I wouldnít want anyone to be scarred like I am. Perhaps when you experience something that you cannot relate, cannot explain(believe me, Iíve tried, and disaster has always been the disastrous result) perhaps when you are a part of something you wish you could forget, or at least explain, but I know I never will be capable of any of that. Maybe thatís when you subject yourself to sitting alone like this, speaking out to the universe and that great and infinite scroll of Human thought, of words and answers and emotions and empty bliss. And if the price for being a part of that connection, if the price for immersing myself in this without any restriction is such unadulterated torture as being stuck with an unexplainable cause, itís worth it. If anything is, nothing is, and so I donít have a choice anyways, but thatís all right. See, once youíre in this insanity and canít get out, you love it. And now its time to stop, but I donít think I will, because then what will I do. Iíd rather just saturate myself in a nothingness which creates myself in all the splendor of this insanity. So Iím never going to stop, even though Iíll have to at any moment, but until that moment Iím here. And where is here? Who knows, but Iíd rather be here with myself and you(whoever that might be) and maybe in another strange place someone else is here too, and they can feel every word I canít form. And maybe Iím just feeling them, and Iím no one at all, but then again: are any of us anyone anyhow?
Shhh. . . Iím making a wish. Iím wishing that you could see all that I really am. Iím wishing I hadnít seen all that you really are, and Iím wishing (harder than Iíve ever wished) that maybe. . . I can stop suffocating. Why did I ever come here? I have to leave, to get out, or I wonít survive. Why am I here!!!!! I hate this place. Iíve tried not to, Iíve tried to love and accept it, but it has closed its doors to me, its cold steel doors. And something inside me is calling out, ďthen climb up on the wallĒ But I donít think I have the strength. i want to leave it all. I want to leave my dreams here too. Leave them as a pile of smoldering ashes. Leave them as a wisp of smoke that soon will not exist. I want to leave it all for something new. the only true and pure thing in my life. The only thing I really love . . . the melody of my wish is floating across the sky. The anthem of my homeland. The ballad of my every desire. And itís tearing me apart. Layers of hope so thick they suffocate my reality, but fail to cushion my fall. There is no escape. Only fear. And dread, and hatred. The past is the worst thing of all. It never leaves you, it is always there to haunt you. And I want it gone. Black against the sun. Wasted away behind the light at the end of the tunnel, only I am chained to the opposite end, chained by time and by a thousand screaming voices, each one echoing my own. . .