There's rocks in the yard that I dropped many years ago,
Bloodstains on my ripped jeans from falling time and time again,
I'm sittin' here, writing, 'bout things I barely know,
And just like the past, nothing will change.
There's still cracks in my wall from when I kicked it too hard,
There's still scratches in the paint from when I was bored,
I'm still sittin' here, writing, 'bout things I left scarred,
I keep looking back, and I'm not moving forward.
There's still words that I wrote from when I was
young and naive,
Still marks that I left back when I was trying not to drown,
I'm still sittin' here, writing, 'bout my insecurities,
Just like those years, I'm only looking down.
There's still the nightmares that follow me until I fall asleep,
Still hiding places that I've not forgotten or left,
And still, I'm sittin' here, writing, 'bout everything I keep,
And so I'll keep writing, from child to death.