a heart of a torrent that never stops raging testing my hands i wish i had the boy testing my back i know joy by the sweat of my brow and by the work I've laid whether a floor, door, wall, window testing my hands on the feel of a glass pipe brought to my lips the burning sensation the high, the alleviation relief from the overwhelming feelings of alienation, and a lack of direction procrastination, stagnation you were too busy galavanting to take notice of the turn of years of the changing of clock hands when they said indignant? do something about it! they didn't mean get high man! and now the feelings have built and have been joined by the company of other ill suitors to whom do you take to the altar who claims your life father and what should you like the tombstone to say?