All the bottles are empty
I'm clean out and gone
Each eye upon me is hazy
The soul in me though
Has not gotten lazy

I'm home, but I'm lost
This foreign wooden creaks
As the walls around me speak
With stories of old and new
In bed I feel such a fool

Another new day
And another dead night
Each street light burning out
Gypsies gripping their drugs
And their old worn out backpacks

I'm lost in the pit of the world
Wondering whose lie I heard
That busted my ears
And bent my already crooked nose

Where the time has gotten to
I've given up trying to tell
All that seems to matter
Is the scream of love
And the sound of the yell

Each rhythm to think of
Nodding in green toe's crest
I see the rest, everything else
Is the test
In color we dream
In black and white only nightmares
Questions only come to
The one's who have the time to ponder
William S. shook his feather pen
Shaking wood and stone to its foundations

Never has life been so invaluable
Never has life been so expendable
Never have we seen the pen do such damage
As the actor's played as the playwright prayed
Not to see a barrage of fireworks colored cabbage

A wheeze
A moan
A hate filled tone

The roaming dead
No longer have their wishes
What I want to see
Is to be me
Without the old me

Present
Without
Weight

Time
Without
Future or
Past

A
Role
For a
Play

Never written
Or

Cast