There on the tar
Lies paint with a purpose
We wander too far
Over the lines of hierarchy
Destined to face the consequences
Set by the ones whose eyes
Have experienced this all before.

Troubled souls state simply
That lines are meant to be crossed
They say this with impulse in limbs
With zero regard for the tarnished ending.
Souls of this demeanor
Will never wholy construct the finish
Solely being because of velocity.

You’ve state the line is blurred
The paint is worn or faded
Yet I still stand here listening.
This road has been shattered by youth
The less weathered assume the sun
Would’ve dried the paint by now.
Little do they know
The paint has always been wet.