Never wonder, my friend,
how life is,
what's there for us,
cutting through it:
just imagine.
I still turn it on early,
and reckon it's never too late
to put some things to bed
whenever their time is due.
Their habits or mine,
you say?
Some are too common
to share,
as we used to.
Now the rain is salty again,
and it's our common loss,
but it's nobody's shame.
Or reversed,
I'm confused..
Or it seems so,
if you dare to speak on it
in simpler words.
In fact,
I hear some kind of blues rock in loops
when I turn it on.
Hopefulness measured with helplessness
as an act of overlapping ruse.
But I've never searched
for this kind of music
which makes me feel bruised.
Coldness seeps through
old bones and dark minds,
and it's easy to get used to it.
Listen to it, and it can sway you too!
Hopeful still, but it drudges me more.