This Is
i write, i sing, it’s not entertainmenta little of you, a little of me, a little of what remainsit’s mercy,
i write, i sing, it’s not entertainmenta little of you, a little of me, a little of what remainsit’s mercy,
schoolit’s public schooland if you want to survive to get out there aliveyou’d best keepwhat makes you sleepwell enough to
sittin’ down with an old guitarand an older memoryplay a tune like my first new carhearing everything i’ve got to
i don’t know what it is keepin’ me from runnin’ from herewish i could say that about everything a normal
dieyou wanna be freeyou wanna be someone you are not supposed to beliveuntil you can seeuntil you can see you
I wasn’t thinking of any one seriousI wasn’t trying too hard to beYour true love of a man on the
once familiar way to gotwice the time away to knowthat i was never goin’ back again maybei built a wall
i am a product of our economic wheyand i am not here of my choice i worked 13 hours on
monday, tuesday, wednesday, thursday, friday, saturday toomakin’ it look easy; doin’ everything i do oh so tragic, no more magic
someday somehow you’re gonna get someone somewherebut this ain’t gonna happen; it’s not that i don’t carejust because i talk