I step outside and once again
I don't know where I am.
For this last year I've been so lost
and I don't know where to begin
random or in routine
my life doesn't seem to show
any track, sense, or direction.
And I never feel at home.
So I drive and walk around
but can never find a place to settle down.
Sins and and sad songs are all I have at the end of the day
and I still don't know where I'm going, I've just got to get away.
Between the fights and fallouts
I find a place where my life grows.
I work for something greater than me
and it keeps me on my toes.
I'm basking in the initial warmth of loneliness.
Absent minded in a room full of people demanding my best.
These cigarrettes and sins are slowly killing me.
And I can wait for death or find where I should be.
As you open another carton of cigarettes
labeled for this week,
you wander, 'is this gonna be the box
that kills me? '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem