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Description
Little things.
Small things.
Tight things.
Wrong things.

I see small things,
Never clear,
A subtle hint,
A whisper in my ear.
The things that people walk right past,
The guy in second,
Or in last.
A habit, a talent,
A hope or a dream,
They stare right through,
To the brighter gleam,
I guess I notice ‘cause I was one,
A shadow of me,
No life, no fun.
A small simple shell, not at all me,
That is what I used to be.
I was dead, now I’m alive.
You can see, with your own eyes,
How much I changed, but I won’t forget,
Those little and forgotten things yet.
Now I’m alive, one part is still dead.
The part that you thought was only in your head.
The part that’s attracted to love and to light,
The glowing and celebrated, the hopelessly right.
I see what’s wrong, just off the curve,
A sixth sense, a sensual nerve.
It's all that I had, it's all that I was,
All my depression, and all of my glee,
Call it what you will, but I call it me.

Description
Little things.
Small things.
Tight things.
Wrong things.

I see small things,
Never clear,
A subtle hint,
A whisper in my ear.
The things that people walk right past,
The guy in second,
Or in last.
A habit, a talent,
A hope or a dream,
They stare right through,
To the brighter gleam,
I guess I notice ‘cause I was one,
A shadow of me,
No life, no fun.
A small simple shell, not at all me,
That is what I used to be.
I was dead, now I’m alive.
You can see, with your own eyes,
How much I changed, but I won’t forget,
Those little and forgotten things yet.
Now I’m alive, one part is still dead.
The part that you thought was only in your head.
The part that’s attracted to love and to light,
The glowing and celebrated, the hopelessly right.
I see what’s wrong, just off the curve,
A sixth sense, a sensual nerve.
It's all that I had, it's all that I was,
All my depression, and all of my glee,
Call it what you will, but I call it me.