When I was enough
I caught the downbeat
Broke it right,
Knew how to run it
Just a little bit harder--
Caught it on the upswing,
Watched it lose itself,
Let it go.

I woke up one day,
the sun had gone away.
While the moon
was nowhere to be seen.

In the growing cold,
the ice was gaining ground.
While time was growing old.

soon there would be no-one
to remember what had been.

The lines in the distance,
join into one.
we're heading to the
vanishing point.
If we disappear;
maybe it would be
a better difference.

Awry this earth's become,
frayed by changing fiction.
Dreaming of what,
once never has been.

Sold as a vain token,
for an declining return.
Fortold by our history.

Soon there will be no-one,
to tell of what was seen.

The lines in the distance,
join into one.
we're heading to the
vanishing point.
If we disappear;
maybe it would be
a better difference.

Means of production for
repetition of an old proposition.
More for more's sake,
each against each other.
All on the take.
A fight to be "self-made."
So, come,join the staid.
Share or care, compassion.
All are in America; unmade.

You think you know until you don't
And then it all falls apart
Broke, busted and alone
Time for a whole 'nother start

Pick up all the mangled little pieces
Mold them into another shape
Smear some love into the creases
Pretend there's no escape

The places, they are always changin
And the view never stays the same
Every dripping bit of sin
To no avail could it be tamed

The itch will devour you entirely
Unless you learn how to see
With all of your different parts
And not just your ******* heart

You think you know, but you don't
And its all falling apart
Broke, busted and alone
Time for a whole 'nother start

The tricks of the self:
to confuse and divide, ensnare and impair,
to turn the head on the tail.
Leaving us all chasing circles,
lashing out at phantoms and grasping for dreams.
Living our life's through fiction.
Against the real, it seems we rail.

My mistake was to believe:
To believe in human kindness or reason,
or that truth is in some way potent.
The idea that humanity could make sense,
of what the past will portent.
To dream that borders would not be
barriers to better ways.

On the wall where shadows grew;
Light lightly refracted though windows.
With cups of long cold tea;
where appropriate storms swim.
By a wall where shadows put on a show.

Let slip words aglow,
in skins subsurface shimmer.
Skip, flip, fall and tumble.
To Cracked laminate floors.
Spilling those storms out into the world.
The Sun boils, flowers  and then bows out
to a Gray sickle of the night.

In this world where shadows know;
A little light is all that's needed to nurture
the shadow's show.