where's my voice

i sit and think but i never do;
i cant think of nothing old or nothing new.
when i look up at the sky, i can see what could be in my life:
but i never say anything when he passes by.
so my silence is the jail, and the prisoner is my feelings;
but in my daydreams they break out and i start peeling.
when im pretending im bold and bright;
but when i see him im like a deer in headlights.