It's never the right time,
I am always tied tight to the
strings of the bow,
never the right time,
I know that,
at least I do now.

How to fix magnets to drag back the moments we want to apologise for, but time always knew I could never do that,
it's an opposite attraction, a divisive subtraction that takes me away from the words I would say
in the right time, such a long time, much ado about this but I'd prefer just to kiss all the moments in my time, but it's never the right time, something always crops up, pops into my mind, I fall off the wagon
just like the last time.
It is never the right time.

If I am the arrow then I must be stuck,
I have been fletched and been plucked on the strings of no luck and sometimes it seems that no one gives a **** except me.

If the right time does come, will I stand up or run, will the bow let the arrow know, will the arrow fly true and if so, what will I do in the right time.
No time like the present to present me with posers, suppose If I would, if I could run away, would I say,'stand up you coward and stay,

Time holds the matchbox that strikes me and locks me in a dark moonless night, If I might take the light from the taper, to paper over the cracks that appear in the lack of my understanding and
light my way along another unknown intended landing in one more apartment block, standing as I do with the shadow of me looking back at you which is me and who could make a sense of any of this,
just let me kiss the moments goodbye, let the arrow in me fly,
off to the woods, I may cry but I'll be safe then,
in the right time,
when it's my time.