Here is my pen like the blade of a knife
As it furrows through earth already turned twice 
And there is treasure within, I can hear it call
And all of the problems are not there at all
As I open air in the core of my being
I know there is something here worth seeing
And they tell me lies but they believe
In all of the strings that hang from my sleeve
And I’m just untwining a tapestry
So the threads might be able to run free
And make themselves a masterpiece
Not somebody else’s picture to learn to crease