Waking fog I trip through the smog of memories misfit two step
Lyrics of lore gone past for bore of thoughts float off for evermore
Now awaken I speak in tone crack my bones as my lover is with no other
Fast to speak quick to the week I carry my soul in a soft pinkish bag
Surrounded by strangers that act much tamer then I ever wish to do
They are old timid watch this and that on an old unowned TV set
I stare as I wear my sleeves tucked in with no ounce of fear
Listen to the whistle of the horses galloping through the meadows there
Money separates us from animals but still that savageness
The deep natural fear is still
Quite there