We're all wundering, wandering on as if to be something is the most important thing.
We're all wundering, stumbling around with no direction but acting as though we've found the connection.
We're all wundering, that's our passion our drive our will to live wrapped in a bundle of life.
We're all wundering, wondering who's in control of our soul.
And those who have that answer have peace about forever's unknown.
We're all wundering.

When will I come home physically or mentally.
Constantly staying in my best interests hopelessly.
Aimlessly wandering like a nomad.
No, I'm not mad just a man without sand to call my own.
But it's not really about that.
It's not really that I'm ever sad because I'm not.
And it's not really because I'm glad because I just happened to forget why it is that I do this.
Look at me but not really.
Trying to give it all out transparently.
Trying too hard I guess to see the sea at hand.
Drink it all in even though I shouldn't, and I know that I really couldn't ever pull away.
And everyone seems to know that I won't be here to stay, but I will of course.
See, this is where I'm at even though it's not where I began,
and this is where I'll be forever here with or without my own sand.

Some people might look at me and I can see what they say.
Most individuals judge in their heads and then turn their heads and walk away.
To be like a child and not know any better.
To be like I'm young again would just be so much better.
My mind tells me I'm tired, tired of waiting tired of dreaming.
Telling me soon that everything I see will expire, but I'm too young to retire.
I got my whole life ahead of me, that's what I always hear.
I see so-called opportunities flash in front of me, and I just don't feel fear.
But I probably should.
I probably won't go anywhere but I know I could.
If I'd just apply myself and rise to where it's blue.
These words are a reminder of what I used to be,
what I could be, and what I am because of you.