New scene, new place. Traveled far from home.
Things are not the same here. Things are different.
I may be of the same age, type, level, and yet I am not the same.
I am not a part of this world; I am not a part of you.
And no matter what we do --
This thing, I think, might always be true.
I don't just think it; I fear it too.
Keeping to the beat in time
And yet yours is not in sync with mine
There may yet be a fine line in the sand
and things just weren't as we planned.
And where home is always a place welcomed
this is certainly not home.
Will I ever find my second home, my other world, my home away from home.
My voice is silenced because I know and I feel and I can't escape it.
So when footprints in the sand diminish from two pairs to one,
that's when it will finally be done.
You can walk around like a zombie, devoid of expression and emotion
Because you feel you are the outsider.
This is not home and it will never be
and everything, how far we've come you see
will it be for naught? Or was there something there we caught.
And even when I feel that home indeed was true down there,
I'm not so sure anymore, because I'm ready to leave.
A fresh start, a new place, to design myself a new face.
A new home, one I build from the ground up in more ways than one.
It's a strong mental block, an internal fight, a passage of the kind of rite.
In keeping with internals true, I always feel this way with you.
For where life takes me time will tell and everything we built hath fell
For one more day my soul I'd sell, but for this time I stay lost.
And while you've reached the end of this,
with feelings of confusion less
than before but more will build;
will insatiability be filled.
I don't know. I never do.
But you can say it. Only you.