Maybe I'll write about tomorrow
Though today's not yet done
Of good days and bad days I've yet to pick one.
I know that day approaches, and the season is here,
Yet bundled up in me is a heart full of fear.
Have I done right or am I still wrong?
I'll sing my heart out with every Christmas song.
I'm a writer, a poet, that is exactly me,
And with my words, I'm hoping to fly free -
But I'm riding blind, this life I cannot see,
I'm trapped and I'm sinking into constraints of unwanted destiny.
I'll write you a tale of pirate's treasure,
Of friendship and love that is beyond measure.
Maybe you'll carry, maybe you'll ride,
Or maybe you'd rather just hide from your lies.