My story can fit in my car, I’m dreaming
My life is trudging on the yard, keep swimming
Doors slam in my face, I’m tilting
I won’t get very far, I’m wilting
The room is cold, the body hot
Outside it snows, the cats they trot
The car is stuck, frozen in place
No more direction, stuck in place
The home blows away in the wind
The dreams are no longer fit
Like pests in the attic, they really stink
I wonder what the skeleton in the closet would really think?
Is he going to hold me back?
Is he going to falter off track?
Is the skeleton following me?
The skeleton won’t let me be
I thought I escaped it when I brought on my tiny home
No more room for him to go
Hating the path that I have to take
Somehow he still follows my wake
I can fit my home in my car
I’m running out of gas I won’t make it far
The dreams of my life are falling apart
The skeleton laughs and says, “there’s your work of art.”