mirlo

Living truly,
not according to plan,
never came to mind,
not even for a little time.

Sundays on toast,
living on the road;
I really hoped the city was my place.
We were all under the same sky.

These frightening lies,
rushing out of sight;
they haunted me behind every corner I hid.

Hallucinating with my soul,
tender tendencies from my ghost.

'Cause all I ever wanted
was to be me, just for a while, just for all time.

Now bolting just fine,
this child of mine is yearning to find
a great passion to climb,
to save the blackbird from me, myself, and I.