Unnerving Tone

What if I told you that I wanted to make music for a living?
Going out into the country and deep into the cities. Sleeping in the car and living off charity.
Would you follow me?

What if I told you that I have trouble believing in anything?
That the hopeless romantics and theologians and poets did nothing to alter my dreams and philosophies.
Would you still believe in me?

What if I told you that I rarely feel like I make the right decisions and I'm likely to second guess everything?
That my confidence  is a hook dangling out in the sea on a line called deception and the first man to walk across water will likely walk all over me.
Would you look out for me?

Or would you go?
Would you flee my unnerving tone?
There's probably not much that I know
but I know you'd come home.

And What if I told you that there's more than one person I'm okay with growing old with?
Would you punish me?
I know you've felt that way before but I've seen you shut your heart off and it's something I could never do.
So don't judge me too harshly.

And what if I told you that without you I'd die?
Would you laugh at the metaphor and call it "a lie"?
Or would you understand the imagery, the death that I am,
The destructive capability of a pitiful man who's judged fairly.
You could help me.

But if you go.
If you flee my unnerving tone.
There's probably not much that I know.
But I know you'd come home.