when blind men go walking, what do they see
but the backs of their eyelids, a shadow of me
and much is the same, my own personal state
with vision so blurred that i too can relate
i wish i could say that this wasn't the case
but i keep on failing to walk in your grace
mechanical movements are all i can make
practiced so often they're without mistake
but i almost hope that my body will rust
decompose fully and turn into dust
for then i'll be carried by wind once again
to places i've seen in the past but have left
and this time i promise that i will not leave
until i can guide with the sight i receive