Luna is everything.
In the air we breathe
and the nighttime wind.
The stories we weave.
And the things we see.

Luna is everything.
She hangs innocently.
With sinister intentions.
What is it that we're seeing?
The Moon and what she's doing.

I don't care
for *******.
You talk and
I don't hear it.
Blah, blah, blah,
just close your mouth.
Wah, wah, wah,
all you do is pout.

Sometimes I don't know how
You put one foot in front of the other
Despite all your hardships and
Battle scars bleeding, you smother
The bad and the good breathes free
Selective life is the life for thee

So look me in the eyes
and tell me everything.
In spite of the wide, wide
world, spread your wings
and you set yourself free.

The news on the TV tell us things
like wildfires and deaths
are the norm and singers sing
about meaningless ***, no love.
No, the things that we need
are nowhere to be seen.
I can be your someone to lean
on.

Picture this:

You're at work
in your little
cubicle.
Doing nothing
too important.
Emailing this,
filling out that.
Talking to Bill,
George, Hank and Ken.
Laughing merrily
about some *****
that Hank ******
on Saturday.
When suddenly
BANG!

It hits you.

That feeling
deep in the pit
of your gut.
No, you're not
hungry.
Well not for food, anyway.
The feeling that slaps
you across
the face,
is the feeling
of emptiness.

It comes out of
nowhere
and stings like ****.
"What am I
doing?"
You ask yourself.
"Where am I
going,
what am I DOING?!"

Ok, maybe not that dramatic.
But it still hurts.
And it still stings.
And you don't know
what to do.
So you excuse yourself.
Head to bathroom
and look in the mirror.
You're sweating.
Your heart beats
at the rate it would
if you were doing
some heavy work.
Lifting a big pile
of clothes
and running down
a
long
flight
of
stairs.
And you don't know why.

But then you
do know why.
It's because you're
wasting your
******* time.
"You're dying, man."
Your brain tells you.
"You're
*******
dying
here."

Ever since I put
that knife to skin,
I can't stop thinkin' 'bout
how you've been.
No sense now in desecration.
Only gotta live and love,
but I'm havin' trouble with inspiration.
Seems she's gone, gone for good.
Yeah, I think she left the neighborhood.

My love at times
seems infinite.
And when I rhyme
she's right in it.
It seems, in time,
fires always get lit.

So now I'm truckin' along
through empty streets.
Tryin' to right all my wrongs
and rest my aching feet.
They moved so fast, now
I don't know how.
All I'm thinkin' 'bout
is where I'll show.

All I need is
a beat.
Do you know
what I mean?
Come up on the
bright streets.
Flip it around,
and it's obscene.
So baby, let me
live, let me see.
And I promise
I'll give it back,
they've got nothin' on us
because things never
looked so bright.

So bang the drum,
look my way.
Saw you smile
and look away.
That's when I knew
you feel the way I do.
Just know I feel the way you do.

Things come, things go,
sometimes with nothing to show.
They float here and back,
whether the sky is blue or black.
Here's to what's coming and
all the things that passed.