If I sing a song

will it leave like rain?

I tried to scrub it off,

but here right here is a.

On my skin 

I see failure,

it's a new tatoo

read it in braile.

 

Hours running,

miles spent,

The dance keeps on turning,

turning, turning,

'til we come ri-ght round,

but I am no baker of peace

I quake at the idea of things,

I am no shaker, shake me-

 

straight into the  Heavens,

I will climb, anything to escape

my awful rhymes.

But do not laugh, no life here.

For this is my lack of will

my lack of focus;

I have so much

I'm already ill.