Took his left foot and placed it in front of his right,
Hands in his pockets,
Steps out into the night,
Head down, eyes won't meet,
Following footsteps,
Try to keep up.
Stiff strides,
Shuffle to the side,
Tell an interesting story,
Blur truth and lies,
Socialise, find common traits,
Hedge your bets and learn to wait.
Wasted,
"Are we just wasted?"
On waiting for anything to feel alive.
We're waiting,
We're waiting for it.
We're waiting.
Whilst walking empty streets he feels at peace.
Imagined purpose proposed inside,
The walls of distraction
Compose the mind.
These routes are no longer free from thought,
Memories daubed on every wall.
Everything is different,
Everything can be changed.
Architecture of Saints remains.
Nothing, will make him feel the same again.
He's writing books,
No-one will ever read,
Singing songs,
No-one will ever need.