Some days the day just doesn't want to start
Sometimes it's me - and I'm aware of it -
Sometimes it's simply that my tired heart
Wants to ignore the fact that I have lit
Out for the west, and left you way back home.
Of course I'm no explorer, and I know
The way back from the wilderness I roam,
But my heart bitches at me even so.
I love it here - it's where my life derived,
Where everything about myself began,
But still somehow I feel a bee dehived
Or at least set adrift, if still a man.
I wish I were with you, though do not think
I don't wish I were here. Aw, these things stink.
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