They say trains don't run to where you live,
but what's the point of living on a railroad grid?
Stuck between people pleasing and your smart little head.
I'd rather live off the map than go back again.
From stark cities of chaos I'll run to the caves.
Where wonder and joy shine brightly ablaze.
The color returns to my once forlorn face,
because I bit the apple and depression's its taste.
Trapped in my body it bubbled and churned,
awaiting the rescue of myself restored.
So still in my journey I'll recognize fate
of fades in the vivid and paths yet to take.
Hemlocked Heart 
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