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“Some days I'm sure I'll be unravelled, That I'm just a piece of thread, Woven from everything I've heard And every book I've ever read. That someone will find my ending Or a spot where I've worn thin, And they'll pull me right apart Back to the place where I begin, Until they've found that every fibre Isn't one to call my own, Its from the thoughts and works of others Thats I've been so crudely sewn. And there's nothing I can make Or think or do or be or say, That isn't someone else Woven in just a different way. Then once I come undone, Once who I thought I was grows small, What if I look at all that's left And there is nothing there at all?” — Emily Hanson
Some days I'm sure I'll be unravelled,
That I'm just a piece of thread,
Woven from everything I've heard
And every book I've ever read.
That someone will find my ending
Or a spot where I've worn thin,
And they'll pull me right apart
Back to the place where I begin,
Until they've found that every fibre
Isn't one to call my own,
Its from the thoughts and works of others
Thats I've been so crudely sewn.
And there's nothing I can make
Or think or do or be or say,
That isn't someone else
Woven in just a different way.
Then once I come undone,
Once who I thought I was grows small,
What if I look at all that's left
And there is nothing there at all?