I should write down these words before I lose them. Or write you a song just to use them. Some day you'll may want to know who I am. Beyond this facade no guitar in my hand. No I am not a writer. These eyes hold no secrets I hide no truths. I am that I am all I was to you. The lie and the promise. The great escape artist. The weed in your garden. In that place you're still guarding. Where I am not a liar. I am the fighter. Though not a boxer by trade. I am the fighter. Few will remember my name. These are hands that can offer protection. But hid me from my own reflection. I'm the book that ain't finished. The sink full of dishes. A horse that ain't winning. That priest that's still sinning. That spark that starts the fire. I am the fighter. Though not a boxer by trade. I am the fighter. Few will remember my name. With loneliness next to me. Fear sits in misery. Nursing another black eye. On the New Jersey turnpike. I'm counting the headlights. As cars just like days pass me by. I am the fighter. Though not a boxer by trade. I am the fighter. Few will remember my name. I am the fighter. Though not a boxer by trade. I am the fighter. A fighter is born but not made. I should write down these words before I lose them. Or write you a song just to use them