amongst all this frivolity
im ingesting the public view, no apologies.
As I'm taken under, I can feel  my own plunder
like that **** that stinks, I surely belong in the gutter
Dont Mutter. A single word is splattered.
On the wall, i'm going slowly like a  decrepit crawl  
draining down, hell bound, i'm in the mix, just of the crowd.
Dancing and prancing and donating the hate,
im out of sorts at dinner, without a plate.

Uninvited guest, pounding in my chest.
I'm drunk, and everything in life is looking like a giant mess.

Rough, Course, and Hardened by the Earth
the farmer continues on in his tilling of the land.
Day in and day out as he is shined upon and so too is darkened
Left with the quiet thoughtfulness that only such a life of solitude can provide
This is the way of things. Purely his own, he is ridden of toxins and filth
Enriched by the world seen through his eyes, and cast away by the inevitable.
Such a waste, not headed down the pipe or in the gutters in the streets,
but face to face these menacing glances. The trickery craft of witch and ghoul.

Another day to work the land
A world set afire from where he stands