The ink expresses my feelings, on life, love and why.
No one seems to pay attention unless I sing or cry.
Will I always have a song to sing, or a melody to carry?
Do these words really mean anything, or am I just sitting here staring at nothing.
You---you're amazing.
You're the song I sing.
You're my everything.
You---you created me.
From the day I breathed, you loved me.
And I see you in all things, and I know you'll always be.
To the guitar in my hand, to the people I can't stand.
To all the things that my blind eyes can see...it's all about you.
What happens when everything's empty.
The void is growing deep.
And no one stays awake to listen, they just smile, then fall asleep...
