Scattered and disturbed,
Like feathers lost by birds
In empty suburbs,
The things I wanted are the things I am.
The mirror stares at me,
All buttons undone,
Misery welcome,
And all the things I wanted are the things I am.
Through all the pain, discarded and forgotten,
Between empty cups of coffee,
Half eaten sandwiches and lost words,
All of the things that I wanted are the things that I am.
But wait, says desperation,
You’re not made of things,
You’re made of this
Gorgeous spectacular feeling
Of being a being.
You’re made of star dust
And metal rust,
You’re made of hope and made of trust.
You’re made up empty and I must
Admit that filling the feeling
Was a bust.