My empty hollow pages, of myself are calling to be told

Not like the other crowds, with wild dreams of silver and gold

I have put in my miles, of worries and the things it brings

So all I really would like to do, is be alone with my things

Could it be the cases, of unopened books waiting for a turn

Would it be me lounging, on a deserted beach with a sun burn

It seems that at this point in my life, a cat or a dog would be great

Coming home after a workless day, and find them there my mate