The notes fill my head like waves crashing into the jagged rocks on the coast, abrasively wiping clean all of my worries and imperfections. They swirl like the aged leaves on an autumn breeze, calming and mesmerizing. The chords pull at every finer of my being, begging me to come with then and leave the tragic existence that I live. The simplest words that go with the simplest of chords can take me on the farthest adventure. To lands of dashing princes and innocent princesses, of swashbuckling pirates fighting over glorious treasure, time traveling rogues and street rats waiting for justice. It also draws me in, makes me recognize my own anguish and makes me see the hopeless situations I put myself in. The lyrics make me think about my lack of patience, my lack of empathy, and my lack of truly caring for myself. You would think that music would heal me, but no. It rips me open and pours salt water on every little gash and tear that it makes. And the sickest and saddest thing is that I enjoy it. I'm just trying to indulge in the pain that I endure just by listening to this equally angelic and satanic noise. Where would I be without you, you awfully gorgeous being? I would be dead. That isn't an exaggeration, but you don't care, just like no one else cares either. That's all good, that's why I write. To give in by letting go.