Dreams come true, and people die.
Fall in love and lose my mind.
Town to school, happy birthday, gone.
It walked away, and I wrote a song.
Pull myself together, trip and break my body.
I say I am nice, police tell Santa naughty.
Jump on the road as the world disappears.
Beads from above while I’m stomping my fears.
I’ve got a map, and on it is hell.
I’ve got a map, oh I know it so well.
I’ve got a map that I’ve memorized.
I’ve got a map that I sketched myself.
And I didn’t mean to do any of that,
just needed a little help.
It’s nice to not go back there.
Things are life, and then they’re not.
She stole me and was not caught.
Waited ten years and dove in too early.
Sun faded ink where I wrote this word thing.
Found some free and snapped a leg.
Talk to myself and forget what was said.
Like to know what will happen, so I’m afraid to sleep.
And, I don’t know why I write these things.
It’s nice to not go back there.
Fix the world, get me out of here.
this is your life chuck johnson 