Seems life is written by a finger in the sky
high and far away,
Sometimes it feels close like riding with a ghost
on a midnight highway
He whispers in my ear words I’m afraid to hear -
“Are you the driver
or are you a passenger just praying to endure,
a poor survivor?”
Are you a lot like me -
bound when you could be free,
Fearing to turn key?
Let the shackles fall…