Anxiously walking down this long narrow street,
Feet tapping and stepping on the cracks of paper...

I begin to bend as I,
Once again pick up my pen...

I passionately rub my fingers,
Across the face you once felt...

It seems like all my girls are weak right now,
Venting in a thread and making their confessions...

I have a feeling that no matter what I say,
It won't all come out and I can talk all day...

I think it's just about time that I leave here,
I should pack my bags, and gather my things...

I walk trying to met the end,
It's never ending as though it seems...

Blown away by all of the 2008 habits,
Ready to release all of the old stories...

Once upon a time long ago there was a little girl...
Who enjoyed swinging on rusted old swing sets...

My pen ways a ton,
I can't seem to lose the weight...

Fairytales can be real,
If you just believe...

December smiles walking down my street,
Has my gut feeling weak but happy too...