There are tangles in your mind and knots in your hair.
The bookshelves are all full, but your heart's still bare.
Your eyes are glossed over, just the like window's glass
overlooking the lawn, and its frosted over grass.
Sitting on a plaid couch, tattered and sagged in,
you're in a deep daze with your fist resting your chin
The burnt out fire leaves a smell throughout the house.
It's getting colder, yet the fire you chose to douse.
The flickering light bulb is clinked by a single ladybug,
while another's left drowning in a nearby coffee mug.
A dripping sound is heard, but its origin is unknown.
The phone dangles off the hook reciting the dial tone.
In another room a clock ticks, and it's faintly heard.
Through the window is seen a passing by blue bird.
What's happening is noise, that's all there ever was.
You're forever doing nothing, forever just because.
Paralyzed from depression perfuming the air?
Maybe that's the source of your never ending stare.
You could be frozen dead, I just wonder how long.
Or maybe only thinking, wanting a place to belong.
Whatever the case, you're trapped rusting away,
doing the same boring routine, day after day.
I'd die to see you move, even just an inch.
If a gunman came by, I doubt you'd flinch.
The living statue exists, in a cabin so secluded.
Never knowing his purpose, we remain eluded.
That's all there is to cover, for he does nothing more.
I don't think his soul resides within him anymore.
