Grey Pastures

I always thought I would be completed with you.

I've hoped for so long

that I wouldn't feel these walls my childhood built for me.

The grass is always greener, I guess.

I still feel muted with you,

no matter how many cracks you make on my shell.

Maybe I don't deserve this, 

but the grass is always greener, nonetheless.

The distance between the pastures is so far,

yet the minute you arrive,

there's another beyond, waiting.

When the walls come down,

get trampled in the ground,

maybe then I'll understand,

The grass is always greener.

To confess,

to express,

all seem impossible.

When we get trampled,

far below the ground,

maybe then I'll let you see this.