A writer, a poet   A thinker, a flow-er   Two people, two minds   Too separate, too same   Three places, three daggers   Free worries, free lives      For all of my life, I have drowned in the shadows   Five more minutes of this shit and I'll turn around the gun and say      Sixteen years I've been fighting   I've got a lot to show for it, I can take a punch and throw a hit   Seven is not a lucky number   I've seen more luck in lightning strikes, even selfish friends are worth a fight      Eight chances, eight legs   Ate fire, ate dust   Nine killers, nine tries   Nine worries, nine lives   Ten meetings, ten starts   Ten thousand and ten reasons      Eleven months have come to pass    And and I know that they've gone much too fast      Twelve moons have waxed and waned   I've seen the harvest and the blue, yet I still don't have a clue   Thirteen's more lucky than you think   It signals all the changing tides, yet I still insist to hide alone      In this house, in this city   In this tattered, broken soul, I will find home   I will find my way back, find my way back home      These numbers toy with me   Hunt me down and make me run   Go erase your lines   Let me start at one