Words & Music: Aryana, October 2005
Songs I weave out of my dreams
flowing from my strings of sorrow
I fill my emptiness
with music made of uncried tears.
I don't know who I am
I don't know what I've done
I don't know why I'm here
And no-one talks to me
My music fills the silence.
Pictures living in my memory
charcoal scratchings on white paper
I fill my loneliness
With flowers drawn on withered walls.
I don't know who I am
I don't know where I am
I don't know what to do
And no-one talks to me
My pictures fill my searching eyes.
Books I hold with trembling hands
Turn the pages once again now
I fill my hungry mind
With stories known by heart.
I don't know who I am
I don't know what to do
I don't know what to think
And no-one talks to me
Books turned to trusted friends.
Hundred square feet are my world
my steps measured out my prison
Can't fill my silent home
The only living thing is me.
I don't know who I am
I don't know where to go
I don't know why I live
And no-one talks to me
My world grants only solitude.
Songs I weave out of my dreams
Flowing from my strings of sorrow
I fill my fading life
With music made of memories.
I don't know who I am
I don't know why I'm here
I don't know what I've done
No-one will talk to me
By the world I am forgotten.