This path we take, we follow,
Our feet between the potholes,
Half-filled with water,
Half-filled with mud.

The loose stones bite my soles,
And shift my weight away,
Half-over my ankle,
Half caught in time.

We're laughing, talking of things,
That shouldn't make us smile,
Half-crude, too much detail,
Half-rude, but meant in jest.

Sometimes, we break away,
From the pointless, from the fun,
Half-serious serious topics,
Half-broken broken hearts.