The Water Is Cold 

The water is cold and my soul feels old. I lie and watch as the stars steal the show. I am reminded that I’ve been here before. Another chapter, another day, another sunset that fades to grey.

Through all the chapters in my book, this is place that is never took. 
The memories gained, the miles swam, and the forest that I’ve burned away. Life bends and curves, but the forest continues to grow. The water still crashes against my toes.

Michael Jackson and Three Days Grace, along with Lyfe, are the songs of this place. 

I’ve chased after loved ones who are now gone. 

I’ve kissed a girl in the fire’s light. 

A bird once pooped on my head and down to the water, you bet, I speed. 

I’ve seen a hook in a foot. 

I’ve jumped off a 70 foot cliff, and life filled my eyes as I pretended to fly. 

Much like the day the boat tube flipped through the sky and landed on me and mad me sick. 

To the water I came the day I ran away. 

And like items I’ve lost to the deep, there are parts of my heart that are out of reach. 

But still it remains. The lake and my heart. And those two, never shall part. 

The water is cold as the sun’s dance is gold. Gliding across the surface, there’s a new day to be told. 

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