This paper can not hold my thoughts.
The very ends that I've brought.
My hand and heart don't control this pen.
This pen controls my living sin.

Tomorrow I'll be a better man.
Tomorrow I will make my stand.
My head aches for what I bring.
These words I wish but couldn't sing.
These voices that control my brain.
These voices that control my pain.

Have I lost it?
Have I not?
Have I lost it in the pot?

My want to learn.
My want to know.
My wants will never see my needs.
They will not see my feelings to be.

To know what my mind grows.
In the plowed fields of friends and foes.
The pain, the growing darkness
is quick to my weakness.

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