Hair disheveled, beard overgrowing,
My eyes squint at anything over-glowing.
With every sip of gin I’m reminded of you,
Am I waking in blue?
Am I the old geezer they all call me?

As folly as finding logic in Lost,
I still don’t know your final cost,
I lie to everyone; say I’m just fine,
They stop asking questions with that line.
They say I’m crazy, or wild, and let me be.

You are not free, as long I’m not;
But you don’t know where or if you are caught
I’ve gotten as good as you at faking it
But maybe you were faking at all.
And I am just failing to see.