With every memory and every experience
No path had gone the pace he wanted,
Always running when he should be walking
Always walking when he should be running,
Crying when he could've been laughing,
Laying down when he should've been dancing,
Making sense out of nothing...
Marred by the roads less traveled,
Diseased by fortunes misconstrued,
Known as the saint who lives with sinners blood
He doesn't exist, he's not even real,
In a world so cold and lost,
He tries to bring a light,
A light into someones darkened soul,
But no one believes in him
No one can comprehend him,
So he travels through every heartache
Trying to make sense of his life,
Hoping to find someone,
Someone who will believe in him...
