The rhymes of my writing clash with my thoughts
They don't seem to know if I've had enough
Or if still need to be taught
I stare at half-shut windows
While I try to find that glow that takes me back to Rome
Gaga sounds in my head, and she tells me
"Mate, just bring it down. You might not get past Kent"
The Holy Grail was found, and it was painful
I justified all means
And I was all but tearful
There's just a flight of stairs to get me to the roof
Still I can't find the door to the room
The fervor of the crowd turned into tremor
But indeed there was no sign of sin
And I was nothing but tearful
