This must be a delusion,
this must be insanity,
and I've come to the conclusion,
that my dreams are fantasy,
to be or not to be.

I look at all the puzzle pieces
that once fit so nicely together,
but the edges have decreased
to rounded clouds of stormy weather.

And I pray for some hope,
for some sight,
just to see the light...

A telescope won't help me see the North Star,
to find some guidance, to find my way home.

Oh God, won't you speak?

Blindness makes a beggar out of the best of us.
Begging, just begging to see the next step.
I guess that's where we get trust.
Or faith.

Am I insane?
These feelings bubbling in my chest
for the impossible remain.

I hear others speak in the voice that I have used
and it leaves me confused
because that's exactly how I ought to be.

Their warnings resound with my own;
a decision made by pros when someone knows the roads.

Yet repressed, undefeated.
I've regressed; I've conceded.
I've assessed my mental state but unable to explain.
Unable to address something I simply can't restrain.
This is feeling.

I might be deluded,
but I can't tell, 'cause I can't see.

In the meantime,
put one foot in front of the other

and dream.