grasp what hands cannot
the ***** of oughts and ought-nots
moral compass passed off
as correct heading with ship cast off
towards all and nothing

navigation without stars
only with the beating of the heart
and the interpretation of the head
makes for black nights
holed up in bed

thinking and dreaming and believing
that capacity is in my grasp
and I've capacity to carry
my oxygen down, diving deep
into subconscious abyss

subcontinental, underground thoughts
dredge up awful oughts more than not
and like demons from the depths of hell
they tell me what's wrong is well
and I'm stuck in this well I dug myself

so claw my way out, with hands that grasp
the dirt and world that exists outside my head
and dig up truth and upwards towards
something lost in youth
and the daydreams that died with it

climb and climb until I see the stars
until I am a star and so shine for the world
holding onto heaven with a mind of gold
mined from the earth I know
to exist at least to my hands

these instruments of will will see me home