The story of the man who wrote love songs for people that didn’t care

Recurring nightmares made me hate my bed
Before I knew it I was writing songs
Melodies to broken hearts
Memories to forsaken dreams

My hand, my pen, weapons of grace
Stabbing paper with rhymes
Why did I even bother
To make feel good who made me feel bad

So many unread lines
For eyes that cannot see light
I’m spitting out the worst of me
To make something good out of it

Even in the brightest dreams
The darkness overcame my soul
The cold spirit of the winter
The mask that I wear every day

I wrote something else last night
My mind wandered into the living matter
I’m just saying I’m not coming back
Here, where I belong… no more

So many unread lines
For eyes that cannot see light
I’m spitting out the worst of me
To make something good out of it

What happened to that man
Who wrote so many love songs
For people who did not care
Where has he been
Where is he gone
Now that’s too late to find heaven
We’ll just try to keep us out of hell