Maps

We draw maps

Tan paper is used

The surface is rough

But a little bit smooth

Our pens are silver

They have fine tips

We write fine lines

On all curves and dips

Our silver pens

They don't have ink

The lines are red

But they turn to pink

The cursed maps stay

They only change a bit

We know what they mean

But you just see scrit

The destination is obscure

Even we don't know

All we can say is

This is the way we go

We draw maps

It may seem worthless

But we do it on our journey

In search of purpose

Those maps are kind of like

A way through our brain

We don't know exactly what

So don't make us explain

Just try to follow

We'll try to find the way

And at the end of the road

We'll turn around and say

"Take a left here

Turn right up there

That might just release you

From the pit of despair."

"Are you coming?"

You ask politely

We shake our heads

And smile shyfully

The dark is where we draw

Our maps on tan paper

Our brains are where we stall

And know it's our saver

We have to trust

In Someone higher

But those maps

Deceive for fire

We're often mocked

For what we feel

To them it's fake

To us it's real