Weeping willows will wrangle wayward wanderers wrestling with worries washed with wrath.
When will we wash vices with bleach
until they are as white sands on a beach.
Maybe when we lose ourselves
we will become familiar with our true selves.
To save ourselves from the fearful and mystical
place we all call hell.

Though hell is on earth
it is the reason we are all born at our worst
and heaven is in our mind.
Yet, we are all slaves of time
and a punch in clock.
Cashing in time for currency
hoping that the pain will stop.
The pain of missing our seeds grow.
The pain of longing for what we don't know.
Life pains so deep
you don't get any sleep.
Weeping willows will wrangle wayward wanderers wrestling with worries washed with wrath.
Some say life is full of ****
a whole colostomy bag.
It hasn't been the best
man I can't brag.
Shots to cure the pain
I drag with mary on my brain.
She helps the drive
when I'm going insane
or away from those
that claim they are sane.
In a world filled with
doubt from the poor
and no hope from the rich.
You might feel
like calling it quits
but the sun shines bright
over the hills.
Even at night
it shines back at you
through the moon.
I stay up late
and watch it shine through my room.
Through the door
and down the halls.
That's how I know
I'll never fall.
Superior beam of light
with the will to fight
the monsters of the night
and the demons of the day.
That is why
I can tell those that are lost
that the weeping willows will wrangle wayward wanderers wrestling with worries washed with wrath.
Don't let the darkness
of the day
dim your light
and steer you from your path.