The song spills into my ears as fingers fly faster over keys
straining under the constant tempo
it hasn’t seen in years.
Beg me, beg me,
the words are spilling and we are here.
The villains in my head
are begging for a hero
and we are finally here,
watching as the wall tumbles
the broken home.

Damn right, there is no shame.
Be afraid, I’m terrified,
because I don’t know who is driving this bus home.
Tearing the mirrors around
staring at the strange image I haven’t seen
since god knows how long.
I feel it filling my bones,
an awful energy filling my core,
be afraid, because we have to go.

Go back and forth and in between,
the words flowing in a messed up symphony.
Metaphors and similes will exist
long after I am dead.
I wrote them into immortality,
only to laugh when they see
what I had given them for legs.
It’s addiction, its passion,
god it’s been years hasn’t it,
years this song has lain in my head.

Don’t know who is driving this train,
I can’t help but jump with all these crazy sounds.
But the keys are no longer sticking together
and the villains in my head are close friends.
And the only hero is dead, but is okay with it,
because there is more to the story than that.
More than a beginning, middle and end.
Secrets spilling like a deadly disease,
and a cure only for the person who can see,
the person in control of the cacophony.

No stopping you see,
I’m finally meaner than the demons
I was told lived within my dreams.
Don’t be afraid of the movement,
be afraid of what stands,
when the dust settles,
and you can no longer hear the keys.