Empty

I am thinking at these times, we fall back into the zone, John, back under the spell of wondering about you, why you went and where you might be now and how we are still feeling the hurt nearly two years on.

Mr LaMontagne expresses it perfectly:-


I never learned to count my blessings, I choose instead to dwell in my disasters.
I walk on down the hill, through grass, grown tall and brown
And still its hard somehow to let go of my pain.

On past the busted back of that old and rusted Cadillac that sinks into this field, collecting rain.
Will I always feel this way ?
So empty, so estranged.

And of these cut-throat busted sunsets, these cold and damp white mornings
I have grown weary.
If through my cracked and dusted dime-store lips I spoke these words out loud
Would no one hear me ?


Well I looked my demons in the eyes,laid bare my chest, said "Do your best, destroy me.
You see, I've been to hell and back so many times, I must admit you kind of bore me."

There's a lot of things that can kill a man, there's a lot of ways to die,
Listen, some already did that walked beside me.

There's a lot of things I don't understand,
Why so many people lie.
Its the hurt I hide that fuels the fire inside me.
Will I always feel this way ?
So empty, so estranged.


Well ?