I left my heart at home, or somewhere, I don't know. Fed it to the lions in some act of violence. I'm feeling vague and I can't seem to concentrate on things that matter most; I'm slipping into the unknown. I'm no more. I'm not around to hold your hand. We're strangers, and I'm sorry. The night turns into the day, but the sun eludes me. I don't think I'm supposed to be happy here. So I run away from this, from myself. I drift with the wind; the sound of swaying trees helps me to fall asleep. The branches stop to ask, "When are you coming back?" and I wake up and f****** spit in their face, "Just because we're rooted doesn't mean we're in place." And then I drift away.