The paper is my being
The page made from my bones
And when the sheet torn I bleed.
The first time I was handed a pen
I painted across the page world
World I've never been to with my imagination as the ferryman
The paper is my being
The page made from my bones
And when the sheet torn I bleed.
The first time I was handed ink
I mixed it with my blood, my marrow and my flesh
And tattooed it in my heart numerous tales
Of how the sun dances with the stars when the eyes blink
An agreement of few words contained
In every crane and cradle of my being
The paper is my being
The page made from my bones
And when the sheet torn I bleed.
My heart beats out the rhythm
And in its thump, words align on the page
My tears, my fears, my pain
All lined in rhymes and meters
Or words leading on a journey to merry places
The paper is my being
The page made from my bones
And when the sheet torn I bleed.
An escape from a world I can't escape from
My opium without which I'm chained down in my nightmare
My solitude, my very deliverance, and my psychiatrist
Without which I will be locked in the asylum
Left to the designs of my inner demons
The paper is my being
The page made from my bones
And when the sheet torn I bleed.
My friend when nobody cared
The one I whisper to secrets I can't keep
The one that remembers what I fail to remember
My lover, when I need one
It tugs the string of my soul
It is the lock to my heart
Because the paper is my being
The page made from my bones
And when the sheet torn I bleed
Take away the sheet
And I'm dead
Only I die, when I don't bleed.
