For a moment I felt that familiar bite of melancholy but then it slipped away, leaving me with this nagging contentment. It doesnt feel right at all, at least not on me. I struggle intellectually and in some since authentically, I mean it just feels like someone elses contrived happiness.
It's like I was sent to Fiddlers Green, istead of the Valhalla of Metal where Randy Rhoads ever plays lead with Piggy playing chords even God forgot. Phil and Cliff take turns a Rickenbacker bass. This should be my destined place. With passions poured ever over and enough need to fuel my art.
Instead I have another mans heaven a bright and shining land I have no idea how to walk.
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