I was the shore, and she was the wave;
And like them both only one of us could behave.
I was a dandy lion, and she was a rose;
For it matches the tint of her cheeks and the hue of her nose.
I'd give her a song, and she'd give a smile;
We then just stayed like that for a while.
I moved to slow, while she ran fast;
Now all I have are memories of a shaded past.
In the end I was the moon, she was the sun;
Apart forever and never to be one.

Deep within Virginia's desolate wood, stands a hobble shack, where no shack should be stood. Its roof tattered and door cracked and crinkled, and in it lives old man hue with all his wrinkles. Some say he's old, by old I mean a hundred and two, but for me I know it's not true. Many say he's ornery, but to me he's been nothing but kind, you could say hes a dear friend of mine. See I've spent many days with old man hue, and if one thing for certain, if one thing is true. Is that in the hobble shack which stood true, was the closest thing to a father, that old man hue.

I have these demons and they sing to me;
With woeful somber sonnets of abysmal dismay.
Their voices seemingly calling out with glee;
And their talons ready to grasp me within the fray.
But I am chains to the nothingness and wish to be free;
While its weight pulls me down like an anchor on the bay.
These demons are not friendly nor will they ever be;
But I lack friends, and they always stand beside me, come what may.

Grand is the waltz of time in which life leads us.
She keeps the beat, her metronome slowly ticking at first.
It's a beautiful dance of conflict and trust;
And half way through life picks up the pace.
Twirling you faster and harder than she must.
The pace doesn't slow, like a truck without brakes.
Till the music fades, and life goes away with the dust.
Then as if nothing happens, death gently grips your hand.
Intending on continuing the dance as he must.

Some men be born with heart of gold;
Their endless joy, infectious so.
Whilst others be born in scorn;
Never giving in to joys sweet honey.

Some men be born with mind of glass;
So crystal and clear every thought can pass.
Whilst others be born with mind of fog;
Giving way to poor thoughts and desires.

Some men be born with bolden soul;
Unafraid to protect and lead their people.
Whilst others cower in the crowds;
Hearts wanting to jump as the go day by day.

No man be equal, this be it true;
Life, it's no pristine cast or mold.
No it's like a potter and their wheel;
Each bowl, Each cup, unique in their hands.

Paradoxical is the passage of time.
It breaks many of strong men without thought;
Without reason to hold or sight of a rhyme.
Giving meaningless goals and pointless fights to be fought.
Yes, Paradoxical is the passage of time.

Many will seek out its foreboding end.
They'll wander aimlessly in its wave-like pull.
Only to find there are endless bends.
but as all do, they'll continue on, in this life so cruel.
Oh, paradoxical is the passage of time my friend.

My friend, if this is the end, I will hold my head up high for you.
Barring arms, I will fight at your side.
If one of us is to die, let it be me to shake death's hand.
For life's plan for you as yet to come true.
After all, your loyalty for me, I share the same for you.