lirik lagu john bucchino - the artist at 40
i’m afraid to be too little
i’m afraid to be too much
i’m afraid that i might shatter at the slightest touch
i’m afraid of growing older
i’m afraid someday i’ll see
a desiccated sh~ll
that doesn’t feel at all like me
creating
creating
and talk about creating
i’m so busy making art
that there’s no time to live the life
the art is imitating
(too frozen
too flud
too rigid
too limp.)
i’m afraid to throw the lights on
i’m afraid to brave the dark
i’m afraid of growing older
growing colder
losing some essential spark
having birthdays with more candles
shedding more light on the fact
that i’m no wiser than i was
and there’s no way of turning back
creating
crеating
and talk about creating
i’m so busy making art
that there’s no timе to live the life
the art is imitating
(i’m afraid of eating candy
for the momentary sweetness)
i’m afraid of growing older
well, maybe growing older would be fine
but shrinking older…
that’s a major fear of mine
sinking to mere thinking
from a laughing gas ceiling
of unfettered feeling
falling with a thud to the floor
in the single, tiny bedroom
of the mansion where i lived and loved before
a single, tiny bedroom
with a barricaded door
i’m afraid to love too little
i’m afraid to love too much
i’m afraid that i might shudder
melt like b~tter at the lightest touch
i’m afraid of pulling back
i’m afraid of falling in
(oh, such warm and intoxicating skin
a sinful opportunity to steep in
arms to sleep in
lips to keep inviting me back for more
just the other side
of this d~mn barricaded door!)
creating
creating
hah!
i’m afraid of being whole
i’m afraid to fall apart
i’m afraid to take another step
with such a heavy heart
i’m afraid to be myself
i’m afraid it’s not enough
i’m afraid to keep complaining
but it’s not within my training
to be tight~lipped and tough
creating
creating
and talk about creating
i’m so busy making art
that there’s no time to live the life
the art is imitating
i’m afraid that i’m not learning
what it takes to make life shine
that the pages i see shining as they’re turning
somehow aren’t really mine
there’s a secret in here somewhere
or a pattern or a clue
i’m afraid i can’t decide
if it’s a shining universal answer
or a tarnished point of view
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