1. if by anxiety's breath the limbs are chain'd to the bed, the floor, the bathroom floor weariness from yester-pain weariness from the world beyond the door
if the pinions of sorrow fly o'erhead or below from news of loss or news of war of what makes those tears flow and flow
if by hate the blood is red seeping from wounds of thoughts and tongues that twist and spread fire, great fire of the droughts
if the path sought appears long and same the trees same green and the air heavy till you cant breathe or say a lover's name or love itself tastes old and dusty
if the world disappoints and disappoints...
2. Train to restrain Your fists Your tongues and thoughts Fall not into the yester-pit the opaque mists it bought
Train to restrain the sorrow make a path anew, paint the trees a different hue Let those tears bring a new flow let not the rage mist follow
The smoke is the shell, you see. The chemical is the ghost a serpent that shed its existence a lamp left by travelers lost
The lighter is the scythe
no, my dear, I don't smoke you can praise my father for that for he doesn't smoke either no such phantoms roam his walls no vermin nor marks of traveler's lost we never smoke, never try never did we regret to try that celestial powder