A puddle of problems:

I don´t talk about my problems, I build ´em up with tears inside
Look deep in to my irish in read my problems throw my fearful eyes
And when I apear to cry, it´s just my sorrow leaking to the ground
And I hope poeple wont notice and the puddle wont make a freaking sound.
I hope people wont hear the echo of my falling teardrops
Crying out the problems that I blame on my dear god
I look down in the puddle, wondering if the the worlds sees the qeustions
Wondering if the answer lie beneath my blury reaflaction
I want to build a boat, sails throw these waves of problems
Float throw the past, hoping that it´s not to late to solve ´em
But going throw this painfull history it hurs to float
I just hope I´ll find my solutions befoure the problems flud the boat
But that I seem to come upon in this search for sanity
Are vivid images in the waves of hurtfull memories
I hope the bourdon carries me ´cause I cant carrie the bourdon
I´m just to scared to face the truth ´cause the clarity´s hurting
It was all ok whene I use to weep in small portions
But now I´ve got to set the sails ´cause the rain is ceeping on falling

Waves become billows as the sea level increases
Tears don´t lend on my pillow so the puddle gains it´s deepness
Why didn´t I face my problems earlier, why did I put´em on the shelf to whait
I guess nobody noticed the dark shadows as they sat in shades
I never believed in their scriptures, never followed the gosphel
Maby I´m a misunderstood saviour nailed to a cross…bow
A lost soul fallowing in the muddy footsteps of my next of kins
Or maby I´m a drowning angel using my halo as a rescue ring
I´m wresteling the ghost´s of my past, tears? I´ve got oceans of that
My white doves flee as the black crows apear and the volture´s attack,
The tides are closing in, my eyes are noticeing
That there´s a thin line betwean life and death and the line is getting ultra thin
Finally I´ll drown my sorrow, wash away the regrets
Lay the ghost´s of my past to sleep they´ll rest their eyes in the seabed
No more tears to shead, doomed for eternal sleep so I cross my arms
To think this all could of been prevented if I only had a schoulder to cry on.