My Glass House - Swingin Utters

While I sit alone in this room I’ve got crates full of sorrow

Even more filled with shadows

That I fish out and ridicule when I’m felling lonely

I’m lacking sense, but bound in a very specific direction

It’s phenomenal and unprecedented

It’s a chip of the old block and a step up the new ladder

Mr. Scribe, I write to you pen and penchant

Aimed to pour over a fool left with no more rhymes

I’m poetically franchised

I’m in charge for the day in terminal wanderlust

I’ve excited my worst thoughts exorcised what was lost

Am I a bad seed sprouting up or am I not?

I’m sure what sad is

But listless I’m not my lists are never ending

And my emotions aren’t store-bought

And tears, they either deceive or endure me

I’m your little golden nugget collecting dust

Bored with my own stale and directed thoughts

In a place where so much life and loves abound

It’s amazing how little tempts me from my glass house