Maybe if I creep, 
if I walk with bare feet, 
I can leave 
and you won't know 
until I'm gone. 

Maybe you'll weep, 
or fall back asleep; 
forget me in a week, 
I'm not someone 
to dwell on. 

Maybe I'll stay; 
that's what you hope, 
what you say. 
But maybe,  
oh, maybe, 
I'll get away. 

Maybe my mind won't keep 
all the things I bury deep. 
And if I forget, 
can I learn to 
move on? 

Maybe I'm weak, 
'cause I can't seem to speak 
about the things 
that you did 
that were wrong. 

Maybe I'll weep, 
cry for fifty-two weeks, 
'cause even then, 
all this fear  
won't be gone. 

Maybe I'll stay; 
that's what you hope, 
I heard you say. 
But maybe, 
oh, maybe, 
I'll get away. 
And maybe, 
one day, 
I'll learn there's a place 
for all of these 
thoughts of you to be 
put away. 

Maybe if I creep, 
if I walk with bare feet, 
I can leave, 
and you won't know 
that I'm gone.  

Maybe I'll weep,
cry for fifty-two weeks,
'cause even then,
all this fear
won't be gone. 

'Maybe' - 14/10/22.
About Sherman Oaks.