Inkling of truth
Where’s my ink and where’s my pen?
Stop to breathe and pray to ten.
I panic when the waters break,
The delivery may not be so safe.
I don’t know what I’ve got to say,
But the surge is there anyway.
Do I have the gift or do I not?
Why does passion possess me, concerning all:
I can’t let go of one desire…
Do I have the gift or do I not?
What about the “and”s and “for”s and “but”s.
Drop a word or drop a line,
The risks are high and the shame is mine…
Yet I have passion, passion like a child.
Without reason, simply wild.
Freedom’s out and freedom’s in,
Outside these walls and in my pen.
Will I think about a girl,
Shining smile and lovely curves?
Or will I think about God,
The author of my life hereon.
I really don’t know what to say
But the urge is there anyway.
A candle burns inside of me
Don’t want to let it go to sleep.
Do I have the gift or do I not?
What about the “and”s and “for”s and “but”s?
Drop a word or drop a line,
The risks are high and the joy is mine.
And I have passion, passion like a child…
I have passion, passion like a child.
Without reason, simply wild.
Freedom’s out and freedom’s in
Outside the walls and in my pen.
Where’s my ink and where’s my pen,
Stop to breathe and pray to ten.
I panic when the waters break
The delivery may not be so safe.
Will I think about a girl,
With shining smile and lovely curves
Or will I think about God…
