Oh no what the **** have I done?
Took another flight right to the sun,
how many times can I go til I burn?
How many lines til my rhyme takes a turn?
I know it's gonna be at least one,
because I can't hit one and be done,
but I just wish I knew the reason,
shifting gears does seem appealing.
The gear's lost appeal and
my life's no big deal.
Graves are easily made when hearts and spades are paired so freely.
Both can take a beating and going all in's an unbeatable feeling so I keep going until I'm reeling, casting out lines so deceiving,
no one will even see them.
Standing on the bluff,
the bottom seems much more my scenery.
One way trip, could go either way
eyes downcast, I don't see the way,
downtrodden paths leading me astray,
one deep breath's all I need today.
One last puff and I'll be okay,
feeling like I could float away,
can't reach the bottom in an endless void,
if you aren't a body you can't be destroyed -
Then the ceiling gets in my way,
like rain clouds on May day,
sifting out somberly,
over skies, cold and grey,
and now all I have to say,
rhymes with monotony.
Monotone? Yeah, I'll say.
I'll reach the sun some day.