Gray, Grey, Gray

I find that my life is a constant change,

always in the midst of gray,

it is never black or white,

it is the gray area in which I live to tell my tale of blithe.

I live in a gray area where the songs are remembered the only way I know,

With words crossed in ways that higher authority tells me are wrong,

but I say no.

My conscious mind knows these things have never changed,

but instead people spill different colors into my white, innocent paint.

Making grays that disorient me to my current ways,

they leave me in a drunken daze.

If somebody could rescue my departed soul from the wrath,

of the twisting mind games of this life affecting craft.