Here in this basement I try to write a song.
Remember who I am, and something went wrong .
Here, memories float like plankton in an endless sea,
Unbending horizons giving depth to the yet to be.
Fortune telling ghosts and holy hosts;
The blood on my palms I fear the most.
In this plentiful land I have no abundance;
The worth and excitment are reduced to redundance.
My pimpled face swells unmercifully red;
One must quiet down the scatter in the head.
Down here the weight of life is so real,
I would like to lie down until my next meal.
Do you know what it’s like to recoil from time?
To feel the burden of freedom and all that is mine ?
With no one to tell me, “You are my love”?
Nay, that word is too deceitful.
These basement noises
Are keeping me up.
But I am not so weak that I cannot stand alone;
And I need not rely on someone to phone.
Yet, I cannot sit still, so I pick up a pen—
I write for my sake and I’ll do it again.