Art Official

Retracing my steps In hopes to find Some trace of me that may be somewhere left behind There’s a fear, there’s a point, there is a problem What if what I find won’t solve them? And I wonder why I have no motivation I guess I just answered my own question I’m not the golden boy so don’t shine me on I’m the bastard son of romantic Babylon With veins that are all fashioned out of copper A past design not destined to be conquered But like anything There is a flaw Inscripted deep That may explain Everything