Tied a promise band, Like a noose to my neck
Tried to pick my pace, but always hit the brakes
Visited the house I once grew up in,
The one I was born and died in.
Call me ungrateful, unfaithful, whatever you want,
There were pieces of myself, that never found warmth,
There were parts of my time in the hellhole when
I found happiness for myself to feel-----
I may not be the person I wanted to be,
But I’m okay to be me.
There were places I visited, While I still lived in that house,
Some dreary, scary room in the south,
It was my room with a bed and guitar lying around,
That’s where I lost myself to the shackling bond.
Of the fracture, torture to my soul,
Situations, words, or the world as a whole,
Call me ungrateful, unfaithful, whatever you want,
There Still were pieces of myself, that never found warmth,
There were parts of my time in the hellhole when
I found happiness for myself to feel-----
I may not be the person I wanted to be,
But I’m glad, now that I’m me.
I picked up the pieces tryna put them back,
They fell apart often but I could cut me some slack,
There were voices to scare and to soothe me too,
I chose to listen to the latter, despair made me do,
“A person could get through whatever”, was a lie once told,
Dreams forgotten, wings crushed, happiness all sold,
But the fire within me could fight the cold,
Tragic how, not enough, but still some stories are told,
A healing soul is such a sight to behold.

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