I've said this before,
too much last time,
or maybe this one too much more,
replayed tapes,
with self-aware fates,
left with nothing to say,
words with meaning all switched,
can't tell if it's self pity,
or that I just *******,
start,
stop,
go aboot your time,
concentrate on words and hours,
like nickels thrown at a blind mime,
Realizations of a comparison,
wondering if under a different light,
I look like a better son,
the shape of oblivion,
is phrases written in deja vu ink,
on strands of fate,
pop the tape,
back in,
here we go again.