thisisallwrong

You talk too much.
Maybe that's your way
Of breaking up the silence
That fills you up.
But it doesn't sound the same
When no one's really listening

We stumble into our lives:
Reach for a hand to hold.
And any wonder
We need to find
A certain something, certain.

Turn out the light
And what are you left with?
Open up my hands
And find out they're empty.
Press my face to the ground
I've gotta find a reason.
Just scratching around
For something to believe in:
Something to believe in.

You have too much.
You're spending all your time
Collecting and discovering
It's not enough.
And no matter how you try,
You never find the one you want.