The Kind That Could

I never been the kind that could look at the sunshine and could say to myself these are the good times and I'm fine
-- I would rather be craftsman building a endless maze -- get lost in my own creation and have to backtrack for days -- constuct walls out of lies -- create the footing that hate buys -- watch this deceitful soil grow only the weeds of my demise -- see my thought process resembles and algebraic equation -- the slower I stroll towards resolution the more obvious the solution -- when I fall flat on my face once again -- will you lift me up? will you lend a hand? can you whisper the words that I need to hear? will you tell me that you understand? I remember the times that I walked away when what I should have done was run -- all the teaching tools wasted on me -- that work that I've undone -- all the hollow apologies -- all the smiles of courtesy -- all the empty words -- the facts I've slurred -- the vocal agilty -- it all got me nowhere extremely fast -- an unsurpassed volume that will outlast -- even though I know this behaviour should not occur again -- I need to know when I look up -- I'll see you reaching hand -- I just want you to pick me up and I just need you to pick me up and just one last time all I need it -- all I need is