I’d been staring at the truths before me,
till my sight left me;
I’d walked a-way,
from a thousand lives.
No I can’t,
It seemed that there was more afoot,
I was some-where else;
Like letting fly with hand grenades,
in densely packed glasshouses.
Wanting only to be free;
So I scrape the dust
and dirt and grime,
from all my seconds lost;
and force myself to smile again,
A part to play in all of this, to better all my worsts.