I picked up a pen,
I wrote my way out of hell,
I wrote my way out of revolution,
I wrote my own deliverance,
And you wonder why i never ride on rollercoasters anymore,
Rode so many for people who wouldn't even ride a toy for me,
When the sun goes down and the river between is reduced to nothing but shimmers of faded light,
remember that some sunsets never sunrise,
Life is but a garden of flowers whose love and care blossoms us different but our beauty is no more less than another's,
sometimes giving up what we know for a chance of the untold is worth the unending adventure that follows....
Giving power to that thought of doubt,
That everything will work.
Purpose found my life,
Burried below the charred remains of my wildest dreams.
