All that matters is my point of view.
In my eyes I can make you however.
Can make you say what I want
Talk the talk
Walk the walk.
I can make you into something you're not.
'Cause I have the paper,
And I have the pen,
And I am writing.
Dear World I am writing.

I'm ready to craft
Short quick lines.
Coming up with signs
That mean this and that.
And all of a sudden to myself,
I'm a sculptor,
Forming like the greats.
I'm a sculptor of words.
I'm a sculptor of words?
Good God,
Alleluia.
I'm a sculptor of words.

I shape a ball with my hands.
Leave my fingerprints.
Ready? Aim. Fire.
Throw it out the window.
And see how this all goes down.

Doesn't fall on an unknown passerby,
Grows wings to soar up high.
Starts to fly.
Standing by my window I catch your eye.

And I'm ready
To carelessly describe
In my mind,
On the page
What you do and what you say.
And suddenly I have,
A revelation.
Certainly of my own creation.
And you're just not that interesting anyway.