I am from the cold conditions
The conditions you can’t feel your hands where the wind whistles and wipes
I am from the rocking sea witch provides comfort when need be
I am from the poets and artists but often don’t find myself on that path
I seem to walk somewhere in between
Maybe one day I will lean
Why must memories never last?
Are they nothing but the past?
Or maybe they are just there to grasp
Grasp for the moment not the hour
Until they stack like a tower
The attic always talks almost like it walks,
The sound echoes over and over always getting bolder
The attic's always right, time to think twice, for when you do you feel blue
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