Walking through the jungle of regrets; roots coiling on the limbs. Holding them tight with grit. I follow your voice that became the carrier of my soul. Words to some, Mantras to me.
Crawling in swamp of mistakes; control no more. Grabbing mud in fists of desperation, I look to the hand to guide me out. Only to find your words calming me into acceptance and compassion. Words for some, Mantras to me.
Running in a loop, same roads, same creep behind me. Shivering legs and sweat pouring out of my eyes. I look for an open door to let me in. Only to standstill and face the one rushing me into a phase unprepared; I find my voice. Words to some, Mantras to me.
Black Coffee and Grey Stories 
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