The way
They all
Seem to hint
That grassy adage
Every blade, every blade...!

Every blade bristles and tickles
And cuts my skin
To pieces

Cause you might think
You want to leave
But appearances deceive
And would you believe
That I think I know why it is!?

Well, if suffering and joy go ***-for-tat
Like a monopole deciding where it's at
Then I might find some joy in suffering
But then I lost the point of suffering

And I might find the joy to disappoint
In moments when I see what's going on
Or at least I might get nauseous looking up
When caution doesn't matter anymore

So sometimes there is rich inside the poor
And sometimes there is sane inside insane
And I swear that I knew this all before
But my my my my my things forking changed.

But what bothers me the most of all is you
The empath who could never draw the line
And now writing this poem I see it's me
The kind of shirt that happens all the time

There is a certain, certain safety with you
That I just have a feeling I might lose
But there is certain liberation down the road
Oh, i always go, I always go