An endless cycle spins around
You dangle your legs off the merry-go-round.
Look down, the woodchips blur past;
Until it slows, your only hope
Is to hang on for dear life,
Grasp the metal pole so clear
While foliage and faces blend
Until the world has narrowed, bit by bit
To the merry-go-round you are seated upon.
Feb 17, 2010
Feb 17, 2010 at 1:27 PM UTC
An endless cycle spins around
You dangle your legs off the merry-go-round.
Look down, the woodchips blur past;
Until it slows, your only hope
Is to hang on for dear life,
Grasp the metal pole so clear
While foliage and faces blend
Until the world has narrowed, bit by bit
To the merry-go-round you are seated upon.