And I don't know whether to live or die
I kept my love for her locked deep inside
It cuts like a knife
She's out of my life
Out of my life, out of my hair
Out of my mind, there's no love in there
I move on, move on
Dear God, I wasn't breast fed
And most of my conversations with men seem to revolve around music
I'm no musician but the pain has been instrumental
My sense finally tune the instruments of - of - of
Of being lonely, of being lost, of being loved, of being human
Man I could use a metaphor but I can't get beyond this shit
I could use someone to talk to
But most of my conversations with men seem to revolve around music
I am a poet who composes what the world proses
Saul, ordinarily great with words, can’t find a good metaphor to describe his feelings right now. This shows how shaken he is.
Fearless