in my resting place

nothing has gone

the way it should go

I turned left every time

I should have gone right

this life of mine

the only one that I know

disappears fast

into my vision's last sight

I look for the light

they said I would see

but there's no candle flame

guiding me

I never thought

that I'd turn out like this

a heart once so full

filled with emptiness

it's just the way

life ends up I guess

peace comfort me

in my resting place

peace comfort me

in my resting place

where is the love

I always heard of in my youth

I waited for her

to walk through my door

why are there lies

when all I needed was truth

I'm too scared

to even move any more

I never thought

that I'd turn out like this

I think about Jesus

betrayed by a kiss

it's just the way

this world turns I guess

peace comfort me

in my resting place

peace comfort me

in my resting place

look

I knew my place

I stayed in the station

I knew since the day of my birth

and everything

I thought was salvation

my mind tells me now

it was absent from worth

but my heart remains open

and my soul still believes

I have not lived my life

in vain

the hope of my youth

are now a reason to grieve

I've tried to kill it

but it always remains

I never thought

that I'd turn out like this

still thinking it matters

that I even exist

it's just the way

this world turns I guess

peace comfort me

in my resting place

peace comfort me

in my resting place

Well, that's certainly depressing.

Ain't it, though. I really tried to make it happier, but it was like forcing an ending that didn't really belong. I'm not sure about this ending either.

But you gotta understand that when I'm writing I'm just trying to get it on the paper or the computer as quickly as I possibly can. See, I had this journalism teacher in college who would say to us "A good story is not written it is rewritten and rewritten and rewritten...

So you're working with your subconscious...

...to get the...raw materials...for the song...

...like?

Like a sculptor finds the piece of marble and inspires the work. Or a woodworker finds a piece of wood that he thinks he might be able to turn into something beautiful and maybe even functional.

I don't know, man. I'm not good at any other art form except writing songs. And, when it comes down to it, that's all I really want to be good at. That's all that really fuckin' matters.

Not that I'm saying I'm any good.

You've got something of your own you believe in. You're already at least halfway there, farmboy.

Yeah. I hope I get there someday. Wherever there is.

Enjoy the journey, farmboy. Remember, there are no guarantees.

I do enjoy it sometimes. But sometimes I need a fuckin' rest stop, man.

So rest. And then move on.

I will. I always do, really.