Young Writers Society

Sepia is what I hope would wash my world
A touch of surreal romance
But sitting in the corner of my grey room
I see no place where the sun may dance

The songs I wrote on my beaten up guitar
Reflect more of my soul than the mirror
The way some people can tear it out of its place
And leave it lying on the dirty carpet in disgrace

Last night
Dreamt a dream
And I woke with a sweat
It was so strange
I dreamt we were equal
And I woke cold and wet

Red washed away the grey for that moment
A scene of no trust at all
But standing strong, looking eye to eye
Now I know what its like to not always fall

The songs I write on my beaten up guitar
Reflect more of my soul then the mirror
The way one person can glue it back into place
And make the world spin, to join the unspoken race

And the song I just wrote goes something like this,
It said,
I am no better than you
But you’re no better than me
I am no better than you
But you’re no better than me

And the song I just wrote goes something like this,
It said,
I am no better than you
But you’re no better than me
I am no better than you
But you’re no better than me
But you’re no better than me
But you’re no better than me