You’re not the music 

You’re the headache when the high fades 

A shadow when the light strays

You’re not the music 

You’re the noise 

And I won’t trade my gold for toys 
You’re not the sun, you’re the burn 

A fool who never could wait his turn 

You’re not the rush

You’re the crash 

And I’ll never love cars that drive too fast 
You’re not the light 

But the pitch black memories l lose each night 

You’re not the buzz 

You’re the drink I crave when I’ve already had too much 

And it’s time I lick your taste away   

Calloused hands and dirty heels,

Chipping nails, my hair unclean.

This is how my journey feels.


Her feet bare,

A flower crown upon her hair.

Gypsy soul, she moves,

The crowd from still to stir.


Sheets a mess and I can’t sleep,

Empty notes beside by my bed.

This is how my journey feels.


Her voice hushed,

Their screams rushed.

Gypsy soul, she moves,

The crowd from still to stir.


Results are scarce,

My friends they ask but they don’t see.

This is how my journey feels.


Her words, they climb,

The crowd is still but comes to find,

This is how her journey felt.