The Story of My Life
by Michael Faubion

Turn the page, the same old story.
Build a cage around the fire.
Feed the flames to a blazing glory
Till I go insane with a mad desire.

It's a tale to be told to the angels,
Written in the language of my deeds.
A parable in time, turning water into wine.
Will the Story Of My Life be fit to read?

It's push and pull, the same all over.
Seems so dull, I fall a sleep.
But in my dreams I'm a distant rover,
Mapping out my schemes, counting up my sheep.

It's a tale to be told to the angels,
Written in the language of my deeds.
A parable in time, turning water into wine.
Will the Story Of My Life be fit to read?

It's a weary way if the effort's wasted,
If empty days are spent in vain.
I climb the walls that my mind created
When the ceiling falls and I fill with rain.

It's a tale to be told to the angels,
Written in the language of my deeds.
A parable in time, turning water into wine.
Will the Story Of My Life be fit to read?