Dead To Writes

Trying to keep it light,
when my world is so dense
I thought I'd cracked the code
but it still don't make sense
I'm destroying my life
with the power of prophesy
I feel so detached
like my soul has neuropathy

Was so absorbed in darkness
that I lost track of the light
Til one day Mary picked me up
and left me dead to writes
I wallowed in my own despair
and viewed the world as shit
She helped me pick the pieces up
and somehow make them fit

And now sometimes it blows my mind
because the wind is high
and when the sky is really blue
it makes me wanna cry
Went on a search for answers
but Google didn't help
Because the answers that I seek
reside inside my self