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Listening to the cracked vocals
Of an old song from 1998
Telling me
"Get up boy. There are things out there."
Listening to the ripping guitar
And gently thrumming bass
While the drums pound a beat in my ears.
"There is a life waiting"
How can there be a life
Out there for a freak?
How can ya walk the walk
And talk the talk when ya can't even hold up ya head?
The crooning voice
Of a dead man echoing over the headphones
Telling me how to live
"Lift up that head. Spread those wings."
The driving beat of the drums
The whine of the guitar
Sounding out my misery
"There is more to life than this."
But how can I hold up my head
When my neck is broken?
And how can I spread wings
That are clipped off?
The old song from 1998
In a language I do not understand
Speaking to me
"Live your life. The way you want."
The guitar, the bass and the drums
Telling me how to walk
How to hold myself.
"There you go boy. That's right."
Slowly I realize
Even though I am a freak
With nothing but empty pockets
And expectations reaching towards the sky
That crooning voice is right
Slowly lulling me into a rhythm
The rhythm I will live my life to
"Spread those wings and fly."
The drums telling me what beat to walk to; ever-changing
The whine and rip of the guitar showing what emotions; ever-changing
The gentle thrum of the bass showing me how to do it; steady.
"Spread those wings. Live for yourself" The voice said.
Stay away from me
I walk to my own beat
I live to my own life
I live for my dreams and none others.
That gentle voice from 1998
Telling me to hurry up
Hurry up and reach out
"Life is waiting for you."
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