Visions ran through the crags and crooked hollows of my hopes
I saw all sorts of delicious trouble, mingled in with deeper breaths of peace.
I saw a new man standing up from the place where the old had laid down
chains broken and shackles rusted to red flecked chaff in warm winds

If whispers could fan the flames again, and the night yield its dark
then drudging would turn to dancing,
and glances to long draughts of want.

There the old man comes again wanting all his way,
but the dead were never meant to rise this way
and I will not see another grace turn bitter in the bite
of all my selfish pull and plights.

So where from here, how to cross the great well known?
I do not know, but by God!
I am not staying here
and I wont go back