My Window

When I was a boy, my window was my friend.
Showing me the places, that dreams have never been.
And I used to think, I really did believe,
I'd be better off alone, better if I leave.

But now that I've been gone,
and I can't go home again.
Maybe I was wrong,
the way I thought back then.

I thought the grass was always greener,
on the otherside.
But I see no grass at all,
only mud and hate and lies.

Silence is wisdom,
if it's the fool who fears to speak.
I don't believe in love,
but I'd love to still believe.