The line is blurred
There's fog and mist
Of all the hopes
That could exist.
Focus shifts
The eyes lie
Palms clammy
The world about to die.
The strum of the sun
I wear the fool's attire
Tricked by my hand,
A jest, a satire.
The final laugh,
The strew of cash,
I am hollow
Nothing left but ash.
I don't know what I am doing anymore.