Who knows me
Who calls my name
What do they want, its all the same
Whether friend, lover or paperboy
They all want me on the floor...
The elderly lady in her garden next door
glances as I go by,
She’s no different, looking in my window
staring at my figure,not with lust
but desire for what, what she lost
wanting to feel my fire...
Who knows me now
the creator of this mess
my life looking up
from the bottom of the well
have I became more or have I became less...
Who wrote this crap
this morbid script
I’m just an actor trapped under my whip
write in a bird, so I can be free
give me wings, please let me sing...