My feet what can I say, well they're not the bravest
little things, not small but average I think.
well I put them out the sheets and what did they
do scurry back in was it cold was it warm, who knows?
All I know is that it was pitch black darker inside than
outside because stars twinkle down little light bulbs
of above slightly lighting things gently down below.
My feet what can I say, that flat foot that wanders
wherever it goes I don't know, my body just follows
those ten little digits and the flat palm of my feet.
I am but a traveller on this journey they don't mind
when it's light, this is their favourite time. But a "BOO,
and I'm standing there while my feet are running away
In to the horizon and then I follow in the distance.
My feet what can I say, they're not the bravest of appendages,
When they get spooked they run a mile in under a minute.
But the only problem is what are they connected to when
they leave. "I'm like I be back in a whileeeeeee!!!,
I'm out of breath but there on the spot jogging up and down
and for what a sneeze a shout and then there out. I put my
hands on my knees to keep them eased, to the spot they must
stay I look down and i know that they want to walk, run off again.
I can't blame it, just on the palms of my feet those dam digits
they have their own thoughts. Like a centipede they linger in
the thought of moving where I want to stand in a static form.
But we think we are in control but look below it's those appendages.
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 9:16 AM UTC
My feet what can I say, well they're not the bravest
little things, not small but average I think.
well I put them out the sheets and what did they
do scurry back in was it cold was it warm, who knows?
All I know is that it was pitch black darker inside than
outside because stars twinkle down little light bulbs
of above slightly lighting things gently down below.
My feet what can I say, that flat foot that wanders
wherever it goes I don't know, my body just follows
those ten little digits and the flat palm of my feet.
I am but a traveller on this journey they don't mind
when it's light, this is their favourite time. But a "BOO,
and I'm standing there while my feet are running away
In to the horizon and then I follow in the distance.
My feet what can I say, they're not the bravest of appendages,
When they get spooked they run a mile in under a minute.
But the only problem is what are they connected to when
they leave. "I'm like I be back in a whileeeeeee!!!,
I'm out of breath but there on the spot jogging up and down
and for what a sneeze a shout and then there out. I put my
hands on my knees to keep them eased, to the spot they must
stay I look down and i know that they want to walk, run off again.
I can't blame it, just on the palms of my feet those dam digits
they have their own thoughts. Like a centipede they linger in
the thought of moving where I want to stand in a static form.
But we think we are in control but look below it's those appendages.
