Buried in 'maybe'
A throbbing heart toils for a throbbing mind,
Heart beating on its cage of rib -
It's only a matter of time
Ready to bust out of that joint
Make a run for it and
Breakaway
Worked like a slave,
Your blood-pumping knave
Tired, shifty-eyed & opaque
Make no mistake:
It'll burst straight thru your chest
Go running off right before your dead eyes
And you'll never see it again.