What shade has come over me
to leave such a trail of steel,
this thing I live is a runaway train.

I feel so obliged to follow it,
dragging me, kicking and screaming,
didn't I once engineer this life gone insane.

Pulled along behind, face hid in forearms,
ka-knock-knock- knocking my head on every railway tie.
What shade is this that has split bean's brain.

By the wrist I am chained to this runaway train,
with traits of a hell-hound out of control,
nothing to push to stop from being pulled.

Bound to lose faith at the very least,
though risk of life and limb be the final price.
What shade is this film that I have cast myself in,
what shade is this play that won't go away.