I feel a longing to share who I am,
For the world to know my secrets.
I want them to see my deepest sinews,
To know my so-called Demons.
Inside of me is a longing for thrills,
To play some not-yet-played tunes.
I want to go where I've never been,
To Maine, India, the Moon.
To overcome the crushing reality
That someday, I will die.
At least I want to go somewhere,
At least I want to try.
I'm not as fine as I may seem,
I need to find myself.
I don't know quite when, where, or how,
But I'll "put the lonesome on the shelf."
The best advice I ever got
Was be youself, no more, no less,
And though I try to follow that,
It's unknown who I am, I confess.
My friends and I, we don't think alike.
We fight about petty things,
Like how Politics and Religion rule the world
Versus how Art's the real King.
I don't often tell folks how awful I feel,
I figure they'll run clear away.
My real self inside screams, "Don't tell them! Hide!"
I say, "Yeah, it's too hard to convey."
I've tried and tried to no avail,
To know just who I'll be.
I guess I have a ways to go
In order to understand me.