Once in a while, I come across something I wrote and have no idea what drove it or when I wrote it, but that's my handwriting all right.

Standing in the city with your back against the wind
Protecting all your fiction to yourself you've got to win
But you know you've got a choice
You can hear it in a voice
Its your ghost its calling

You hear whispers in the alley late at night from the dark
The shadows drifting past you grow even bigger in the light
But you let them pass you by
They wave as to say goodbye
They're only passing
And you turn away (and run)

Becoming all your he4roes in your mind when you were young
Blowing down brick walls and smashing doors were fun
But the joke fell down on you
Now your dreams are back and blue
It was bliss believing

Prisons can't release you of your blind captivity
When the truth was on the outside you always held the key
But something still holds you back
As you scorn the light for black
Something keeps on calling
And you turn away (and run)

Kneeling in the wreckage where your dreams once used to stand
And you're picking up the pieces but they crumble in your hand
But by now you ought to know
That there's no where left to go
Now there's no one calling
And you turn away (and run)