Grace stood before the women and men   
Who once had believed her intentions were good
And as the snow formed a transient coat
Grace found herself as a fugitive  

She found herself alone in the town
That once seemed to have a wonderful charm
The people that seemed so gentle at first
Had all found a way to reprove her

As if for a storm they waited for them
To rid of the burden her presence had been  
A stillness of sorts took over the town
The last days before she would be driven out

And on the night that they came for her
They all formed a crowd around Grace’s house
And in the blaze she saw through their guise
And during this change she made up her mind

They were at her mercy then
The guns pointed right at them
She once would have talked to them
Like good-hearted citizens

And as she left the town she once loved
The people were scattered like leaves on the ground
And just as the love she had for this town
So were the trees that burned to the ground 

i never could find a place to call my home   
i never could find a place to call my home
i guess that I never knew how to belong
i remember what she once said
”you can have the world”  

i never could find a place to call my home
i never could find a place to call my home
it’s laborous work to stand on your own
when the carrion is left for the herd  

will I find my home at last
on the outskirts of this land
and will this totem firmly stand
although faced with reprimand
will it tear asunder
lay new ground to wander
will the hunter ever come back carrying the beast?

i never could find a place to call my home   
i never could find a place to call my home
from this place to yonder and beyond
blackbird, will you be my window?

i never could find a place to call my home   
i never could find a place to call my home
i studied these people
unbeknownst to me i had a need
had a need to be received

will I find my home at last
on the outskirts of this land
and will this totem firmly stand
although faced with reprimand
will it tear asunder
lay new ground to wander
will the hunter ever come back carrying the beast?

42 plays

this is a piano piece i wrote on a loose idea of a larger work based on serial killer and necrophiliac Jeffrey Dahmer. 213 was the number of the apartment where he killed and kept most of his victims.

as I pondered on the concept of change I was faced with the bewildering paradox of my existence. I thought, for a second, what if peace of mind was something I in reality didn’t want, and that I- in a state of listless inebriation - had reformulated the very definition of it. subconsciously redefined it into something unattainable.

if in times of conflict i tamper with the question of my convictions, i have found myself trying to define the place in which they are kept, only to find that there is no such place - for they do in fact, i too realize, not exist. rather, as if in a dream, they are real only under the conquest of the bizarre.

but, nonetheless - what i am feeling seems real because it feels real. in no way is a dream any less tangible than the concrete - not within the moment - and i am constantly living within that very moment. if i write with clarity, if i speak with consistency, if i understand as I do in this passing moment - it is of the sluggish intellect, not of the body or of the heart.

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