Every Last Drop

Running Away

I can't tell what's wrong or right.

Don't know what's fair anymore.

I just want to pick a fight,

yell, and slam the door.

I wipe my hands at dry eyes.

Maybe it's time to set sail,

jump over the guard rails.

I start the engine to drive hundreds of miles.

It'll be a while,

but I'll find my voice again, get back on my feet.

Then I'll walk

without looking behind me

and I'll talk

without rhyming.