Pieces of my mind float down around me
I see myself in the shadow of where I’ve been before
I never recognise the path on which I’m walking
Only the room on the wrong side of the closing door
Everyone’s talking backwards and I can’t hear them
Speaking to me of love and perfect designs
I know I’m the architect of my own imperfections
And I never could colour within the lines
This cabin in the woods where i’ll always return
Made of splinters of the roots I cut through time
In here the fear, the shame, the destruction
And every failure I feel I know is truly mine
Fingernails pile beneath the window pane
As I lose another piece of me trying to hold on
In the dying light Gods in my head singing to me
About when amazing grace is gone
