Sometimes living feels like flying
In a strange space without a ground.
Sometimes living feels like dying
Not knowing where my soul is bound.
Sometimes I deny what there is no denying,
so it just piles up in a big mound.
Sometimes I feel like my knots are untying
As if my strings were too loosely wound.
Sometimes I feel myself sliding
Down into the jaws of the hound.
Sometimes I feel like I’m fighting
An enemy that attacks from all around.
Sometimes I get sick of crying
And try not to make a sound.
Sometimes I just stop trying
To be seen, or heard, or found.