I am from,
Chemical imbalances,
From hidden fingertips,
With callouses and bruises,
From the music of guitars,
Writing the tones of voices,
Mysterious in the simplest ways.

I am from,
Hours of labour,
From arms tired,
I am of the eyes staring towards the heavens,
Grabbing anything near,
Helping me to stand,
I am from,
Slave labour deadly,
With waters drowning me.

Held in this dark home,
Windowless,
Year after year,
From night to day,
Where nothing is heard except for songs,
Songs of ghosts,
I am from the lyricist,
Hiding me from,
All I used to love.

I am from my own necessities,
Loving dear olde air,
I am from the gasping,
Lungs so tired and bare,
That is where I am from,
From hands labour,
Working too hard,
For nothing,
From music and tears,
Songs and loneliness,
I am from,
I am,
I,
Alone,
With me.