To You

[Mitch]

I don't say what I want enough, When i wake
up in the morning I mourn my altered self.
I don't want enough of the stuff I say
I wan't because I forgot myself.
Somewhere I don't talk about,
but I guess I've got to now. So,
I'll start at the beginning, when
we were children, I had a vision
a prediction of your face and name.
Okay, I'm kidding. Anyway,
This is pretty much the story of my life
up till this day, why it's dedicated to you,
if you haven't already guessed
is 'cause I don't really have anyone else
to write for expect my mom and dad.
But enough of that...
I was born in 1994 from a single cell.
from a single cell.
The first of three children living in a little house.
I remember playing ring around the rosey,
It's funny to stumble across unsuspected connections,
like my fathers nose, he
always said he could smell a pig a mile away.
His pride was paved in driveways of snow,
that unfold in spring the piles of leaves,
that he told his kids he'd finally clean,
time and time again, i'm not complaining,
his false attainment made it easy for me to
walk away from all reflection, stopped inhaling
oxygen, lost all direction, I pondered the
observation of myself in an altered framework
that costed everything I thought would stay worms
under a rock I could toss at seventeen, I was lost,
Moss north, south, west, and east. But I was taught
by smoked out centipedes the best defence from panic,
to roll up and pretend to sleep.
Then everything just fell in place,
with severed wings and tethered weights.
I'd tend the weeds with water 'cause
any modern man can set a flame.
Everyday I lectured faith a blank projector screen.
Protected from reflection with windows stripped
to mosquito nets and sheets of cellophane.
The need to stretch decay was a memory I let escape.
But the other day, well about a month ago,
I stopped thinking about my problems with ambition,
and what do you know, I'm cured.
Maybe I've just matured, but another month or so,
the other hundred could be just a stunt I pulled
to attain a similar music taste to the one
that in a couple months could undergo a sudden change,
prompting me to rearrange my philosophy
of how these couple hundred other awful weeks
were simply synchronity fodder for
an awesome peek where I start to believe
there must be more to this than spawning seeds
to carve your heart in trunks. Cause it's hard to read
what no one's ever saw before. I never thought this far.