Simple patterns place the tune
into a new earshot of space every afternoon.
Withering and twisting it all looks the same
but it feels different on the inside
it knows its own name. The key and the flats
The vicious cycle of white, black
or both.
Some technicolor grey.

You've got to really accept it
that the heart knows what to do
if you don't, the pressure changes
and the your life ends far too soon.
Time will hit you like a brick
being thrown from
a hurricane
& in time, those of us who know our name
will still be somewhat sane.

I couldn't promise the plan
I couldn't promise anything.
But I could feel the way you felt
when you knew I was taking on everything.
Maybe you waited to watch as I tripped on
myself.
Stummbling through a violent storm of mind
My own Hell.