The Earth cracks, the plates slide, and we fall of track.
The sun freezes over, and color is beginning to lack.
We fall back, lay in this wake of destruction,
as apocalyptic thoughts grab us, from every direction.
Our life flashes like the lightening in the sky,
the thunder rumbles, and it rains down, as we begin to cry
Time stops and we're still, as a volcano erupts,
the ashes rain down and form clouds, and all we hope for is luck.
But what is luck? What is it to us, but an empty wish.
It's nothing but something we hope for, and we're hopeless.
But it's a possibility, that feels impossible to me,
but it's a picture that I gotta paint, but canvases aren't free.
So I sit as a tornado forms right in front of my eyes,
and I'm scared, but I stand up, and finally realize,
that I gotta fight. Or I'll forever be denied.
I'll forever be alone, and I'll never get it right.
I see a piece of paper, and I think of an easy solution,
it's crumpled up, and you've gotta open to be able to read it.
But it's a blank page, nothing but a piece a paper.
You watch it float in the wind, you'll write a story on it later.
It's gone, Gone Away With The Wind,
you tried but you're own game beat you, you can't win.
No matter the pen, the ink is your blood, it comes from within,
just don't lose it, cause once you lose it then its Gone With The Wind.