Alive

This is a song that is very simple but means a great deal to me. It is about my daughter Michaela, who only got to spend a moment with her Daddy before she passed. That moment lasted an instant in time, but an eternity in my eyes.

I'm on the floor with photographs, I can't see past my own collapse.
This box is empty, I am done with souvenirs of depression.

I'm so alive, my soul's a lie.

Jealous rage intoxicates, but consequence reverberates.
Inside each day I'm feeling less, I still can't say I've no regrets.

I'm so alive, my soul's a lie.

This is all hypocrisy and contradicting core beliefs.
I'm just a freak with no control of what I might do since you've gone.

I'm so alive, my soul's a lie.

I'm alive, you're not alive; you're not alive, but I'm alive.

Empty

There's no way I can leave here alive; I don't have the strength to survive this alone.
I don't need your empathy, I need a better way.

Damaging myself through your eyes; give of yourself like I bleed for you.
I don't need your innocence, I need a better way.

Make me bleed my anger, give me my disease; carve out my obsessions, leave me empty of me.

Feelings of disenchantment; I gave you most of all your scars.
I don't need forgiveness, I need a better way.

There's no reason to be here; pack up my things and leave here tonight.
I don't need you anymore, I need a better way.

Make me bleed my anger, give me my disease; carve out my obsessions, leave me empty of me.

The Ride Home

I drive through these streets, pretending that I once owned them, knew them, or at the very least tread on the pavement before. I realize though, through the drops falling aboove me as I stay neatly tucked inside my aluminum shell, I was never here before; I lie to myself constantly, hoping that one day I will wake up and it will all be the truth. I can't fathom this existence the way it actually is, so my imagination must fill in the gaps with something, anything, to give me hope that this isn't all that I am. Self-realization is not new to me; I go through this like a menstrual cycle, constantly understanding what I am, what I've become, then shedding it; purging myself until I come to the next, creating a new day. I think it will be a different realization each time, but I always come to the same conclusion despite all my efforts.

I don't know how to handle people at all, especially not myself. I truly want to be someone who is well-known, respected, admired even. But I really am just a reclusive person who trusts nobody and will probably die alone, unhappy with the outcome but pleased with my ability to unwittingly keep everyone at bay. Sometimes I want to break down and cry, but where? When? Sometimes the pain from my past hurts so much that it blind-sides me as it has at this moment, bringing me to my knees. I want to cry for help yet bury my head at the same time, for I am a contradiction above all else. I struggle with myself almost daily, even though it will only be me in the end; so who am I really fighting? I know that some will read this and be concerned, offer words of encouragement, or simply attempt to give comfort. But I have no need for comfort; no use for encouragement. I am self-driven and self-destructive.

I am getting to that point again where I need to turn around and figure out where I am headed. These streets are so unfamiliar, I need to stop and ask for directions. But I'll keep driving in circles, watching everyone else move forward, and wonder what it's like to be special; to know where I'm going. At least I have a general idea of where I'm headed. However, no matter which direction I'm facing, I still have to ride with the same person. I never really liked him before, and I certainly don't care much for him now, but I'm stuck with him forever.

Reflections From Within

I've been slowly making production notes to begin recording my next CD, and in this process I go through countless pages of notes, lyrics, unfinished songs, and sometimes completed songs. I particularly like to go through my older songs to get some insight into where I was and where I am now, kind of an emotional timeline. The best part of all of this is what I didn't write, or at least what I scribbled out. I look over completely finished songs that were recorded, but all through the pages of lyrics there are minor adjustments, changes to words, that change the mood of the song completely. It is this part of crafting a song I think I enjoy the most; the analytical aspect of having to look at yourself in an objective manner to grasp what you, as the writer, are trying to say. One can learn a lot about themselves using this exercise, and although I've never had any kind of journal, this collection of writings is just that.

The perspective I have from my vantage point so many years in the future is astounding. It turns out I am the same exact person that I was then; only now I have a more efficient way of telling the story, as if I have already explained it to myself so many times that I'm tired of telling it. The experiences I've drawn upon are the same as those that I've always looked to for inspiration, just involving different people. It's quite appealing and disturbing that I know exactly what's going to happen for the rest of my life, yet I never try to alter my course to prevent the inevitable. I suppose that's as close to the definition of insanity as I'm likely to come, but it is noteworthy nonetheless. Either I'm insane, stubborn, or just unbeleivably dumb. Or all three.

Another Day

This is from my my first CD, written almost 10 years ago.

I don't know where I'm going, I've been locked in here too long;
Reflecting on memories not my own, straining to keep my soul.

Stealing my air from this bitter coldness shuts me down inside,
When will I rise to greet the new day? Will I ever die?

Who will be my companion through this, sew yourself to me;
Share my kidneys and my poison, experience the fear.

I don't think you understand me when you hide your eyes,
Soak yourself with gasoline and jump into my fire.

You don't need to hold my hand I'm not the one who's scared;
It's hard to see what lies inside when you have no soul to bare.

Misery loves company but prefers to be alone,
Settle down and close your mouth so I can run back home.

Another day I face the pain - another day.
Another day, it gives me strength - another day.
Another day I'm not the same - another day.
Another day I feel this way - another day.

Who You Are

The perjury flows from your tongue like a second language, only eclipsed by the narrowness of your thoughts; one-sided arguments that result in trepidation, the others you hoped to rally become the throng of disenchantment. Make your mark on the world by painting your own future, not by staining my canvas with conjecture and false hope. They only become the vehicle in which to slip away from reality, only to have the truth fill your lungs during a final gasp meant to save face. Don't tell me things I want to hear, they weaken the shell I've layered to prevent feelings of self-belief and break down the walls I've constructed to keep people like you out.

Everyone has a purpose; I suppose you've served yours by touching my life with the delicateness of a shotgun blast. If I could do it all again, I would do it with someone else; someone who has a grasp of what real life outside of protective custody really means. I know you want to nullify what happened, pretend it wasn't real, make yourself the victim, etc. But I stood alone to face the consequences, given all I had, and shown you how to be forgiven for something that was undeserving of forgiveness. Yet you stare blankly at me as though you've no concept of what you've done, how you've changed, and what you've become. Your concerted efforts to come out clean in all of this mess will undoubtedly be short-lived; once you've cleansed yourself in the waters of vindication you will test temptation again, only to realize you can never wash off the stain of this.

Your past defines your future and your resolve to change it; although I wish I could say you'll end up alone, I know you will always have someone to fall back on. It's who you are.