James Joyce
The Art Of Map Making, Part 2
When I was a child lost and lonely
I stayed up nights and prayed
Awoken from my troubled sleep
With fears of what I was to be
Now I've grown slow to realize
Guilt set in and darkened these eyes
I hide from light to which I once ran
The fear of what I know I am
And I'm guilty of believing
That I knew what tomorrow would bring
And though I try to live my life by reason
I'm guilty of searching for what that reason may be
I'm guilty of believing
That I knew what tomorrow would see
And though I tried to live my life by reason
I'm guilty of searching for what that reason may be
And the rain cut through my sail
And the wind broke my mast
And it crashed down on me
And for a week I could not move
And the sun was all I could see
Until I was blind
But no angels rescued me
To borrow a phrase
I phrase now as my vessel
But it's this bottle of which I'm sick
For the air inside is stale
It's this bottle of which I'm sick
For the glass entombs my ship
And I'll build my ship again
Steel and wood
And the flesh and blood of these hands
I'll chart my course alone
Because no one wants to share
In the fear that gave me my name
In the shame of my name
In the tears of my name
In the shame of my name
My name
My name