The Serpent's Song

[guitar solo] The serpent's hiss has echoed in my heart Since childhood days, a whisper in the dark, A coiling fear that kept me in its hold, A shadow clinging, leaving me unbold. Introvert's cloak, a haven I would crave, Amongst the pines, where stillness finds its cave. Silence, my muse, a symphony unplayed, For crowds, a burden, voices that evade. Yet irony's cruel grin, a twist of fate, A silver tongue upon a trembling plate. Words flow like honey, spun in webs of ease, While whispers weave of doubts that no one sees. No silver spoon, just sweat and borrowed wit, I play the lead, a role I never fit. A jester juggling fears, a smile's disguise, A king on stage, while panic claws inside. No scholar's wisdom grazes my dull mind, But self-awareness, truths I can't deny. The gap between what's known and what remains Fills my own bowl, a comfort, not a stain. The spotlight hums, a furnace on my skin, The serpent's hiss, the doubt that creeps within. But hold, this beast, once master, now my steed, My voice its rider, where once I only bleed. So fear became the fuel, the furnace's core, Anxiety's fire, a power to explore. No longer buried, caged, a beast to quell, It dances now, a partner, not a hell. From restless head it takes its frantic flight, Downwards into the gut, a churning blight, A nauseous coil, a knot that cannot rest, But finds no solace in that churning chest. Then limbs ignite, a conduit for the blaze, The voice unfurls, a torrent's whispered phrase. Adrenaline's surge, a wave across the tide, From fingertips it ripples, where anxieties hide. Adrenaline, a torrent through my veins, Drives fingers dancing, ignites laughter's gains. The monster's fury, honed to keenest edge, Transformed to fire, on fear's domain I tread. And by the time it circles back to mind, The serpent sloughs, its venom left behind. A radiant dance, a smile upon my face, The monster tamed, a tool I now embrace. No longer master, but a friend I know, The serpent's whisper, a familiar flow. My body's orchestra, in perfect tune, Anxiety's rhythm, woven in the moon. [soulful singing] This anxious dance, my burden and my art, Has forged a soul that dares to play its part. No longer victim, but a craftsman bold, From fear's own forge, a story to be told. For I am captain now, of flesh and bone, The fear my compass, leading me unknown. But in the quiet corners of my soul, I hear The serpent's song, a melody held dear.