The tangle of roots and dirt in my eyes,
remove my sight, so how can I a sinful
man
think clearly.

Oh the soul is saved and I savour eternal
life that I find reading my muse, how then
does
happiness escape.

Everyday.

Joy, joy, joy down in my heart.
It is there, I found it. Elusive,
though confound it.

Under the ground,
under the weather,
under control,
who holds the tether?

If each month has thirty pounds
we are at 660 pounds and 540
more to go, this is the weight
of our lives.

Burdened.

Not free to be me,
dancer with flat feet,
not free to be me,
writer with a dry well,
not free to be me,
musician who can
                              not understand
what he sees not.  

Score and scale
score and scale
good for what ails ya.

Take note.

now for the positives...