What Else Can Be Said

I've got too many words, not enough mouth

Doubt starts to sprout when my mind is in a drought

I've got enough fire, but not enough wood

I feel too tired, but I know that I should

I try to write within the light, then I fight the night

Hype might bite but might's quite right

First comes desire, then comes the work

Then desire dies when I learn that work hurts

It's pathetic, magnetic, I don't seem to get it

Protective of potential when I should be kinetic

An object at rest, probably depressed

An object stressed, wishes it were dead

An object in motion, now that is the notion

Of a hope in copin' with the broken-boned emotions opened

Might makes right, but might is not free

Might is found in every other person, not me

Comfort zones are easy built, maybe even easy filled

Comfort zones will break your bones, wait until it kills the will

I've got plans for dreaming, but none that will last

I've got a Lamborghini that has run out of gas

My life has been a breath, given to the dead

My days are full of comfort and at night I am regret

Why was I created? Actually, forget it

I don't need to fret it, I'll just Russian Roulette it