I'm standing here alone, waiting for that train,
That'll take me out of here, out of all this rain.
The people look at me, see me, they think they see what's real.
But what they see is just a shell, hiding what I feel.
Tied to this shell, there can be no escape.
It poisons the mind, it twists the shape.
Trapped inside this cursed thing.
It's a prison to the mind,
In a whole world that is blind.
One small flick of a tiny switch, and they say, it's one of those.
Nobody ever asked me if I agreed with what they chose.
Thoughts. Doubts. Insecurity. Worries. Confusion. Questions...
An answer!
The answer isn't everything. It's just another question.
But now there is hope, to make this shell a home!
It's too bad for their choices. I have made my own.
I'm going to be myself, be what I really want.
Now I'm really oh so scared to do it all alone.
It's easy to see where I need to go.
It's hard to actually get there.
Where is my knight in shining armour, who'll say to me one day:
Just follow me, don't be afraid, and I'll show you the way?
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Answer
Started By CodeCat, Nov 22 2010 14:29
1 reply to this topic
#2
Posted 22 November 2010 - 17:40
There might be more to this than just the words we see written in passage form. Perhaps there is deeper meaning to all of this. Maybe instead of answers for questions posed, there is just the search itself. The search that enables one to keep going on, seeking a sense of purpose, and in not knowing one's immediae purpose, one is given a long-term focus on finding one's place in this world.
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