I keep floating down the river but the ocean never comes
Since the operation I heard you're breathing just for one
Now everything is imaginary, especially what you love
You left another message said it's done,
When I hear beautiful music it's always from another time
Old friends I never visit, I remember what they're like
Standing on a doorstep full of nervous butterflies
Waiting to be asked to come inside
Just come inside
But I keep going out
I can't sleep next to a stranger when I'm coming down
It's 8 a.m. my heart is beating too loud
Don't be so amazing or I'll miss you too much
I felt something that I had never touched
Everything gets smaller now the further that I go
Towards the mouth and the reunion of the Known and the Unknown
Consider yourself lucky if you think of it as home
You can move mountains with your misery if you don't
If you don't
It comes to me in fragments, even those still split in two
Under the leaves of that old Lime Tree I stood examining the fruit
Some were ripe and some were rotten, I felt nauseous with the truth
There will never be a time more opportune
So I just won't be late
The window closes, shock rolls over in a tidal wave
And all the color drains out of the frame
So pleased with a daydream that now living is no good
I took off my shoes and walked into the woods
I felt lost and found with every step I took
<font size="0">Quiet, narcoleptic.. Gay. These were a few of Tobeys personal traits.
Just 17, still a teen and hooking on the street's.
Leaning on the lamp post at the corner, smoking roll up cigarette's.
This was where the money was to be found.
For now Millburn house was to be his choice of accommodation.
A derelict building where the men and women of the night fled for shelter from the cold.
Nothing was asked of them, just to keep old Mrs. Barns safe.
She was the landlord.
Odd woman indeed.
Had let it run in to wreck and ruin after the death of her late husband Joe.
And so that's when she began to take in the out cast's and vagabonds from the street.
All for a little company at first.
It was alright.
Tobey was never really a homely boy.
Maybe because he never had one.
But he did remember his mothers blue house..
Or was it green?
What did it matter anyway.
That was a long time ago, gone away now.
It was strange how he got here.
Couldn't quite remember how.
Maybe something to do with the guy he picked up, or was it the trucker?
The narcolepsy made it confusing.
Two year's in this town.
How long before he'd leave?
Oh well, there was no where else to go for now, no happy retreat.
He was a smart boy.
But going back to school was no option.
Tobey was more self educated than class room taught, and you can't teach an old dog new tricks.
But he was still just 17.
No old dog.
So then why did he feel this way?
Why did he feel so old?
Of course life wasn't all bad.
There were the finer thing's of course.
Tobey enjoyed life some times.
He liked to listen to electro and pop, to the more somber notes of scandinavian dream music.
To flutes and violins, to the qualing voice's of junkies with acoustic guitairs.
He liked to roll and to sometimes rock.
To dream and to read.
He liked all that speed, weed and little e's.
But a cocain mountain would be his choice.
He liked boy's, but slept with girls (When need be)
He liked clothes, but could never aford them.
Sometimes he liked to talk.
Sometimes he liked to rave.
Just depended on the mood really.
Overall life was OK for a street rat.
But life was never meant to be one great ball.
Was it? </font><CENTER>