 Consider you mind, however burdened,
And care for your heart, however frail; Know again that without disturbance, You’ll be found once more in the vale.  It’s the best I can do to abide by my routines;
And I push forward by any necessary means.  I share with you even though I hesitate;
I wish still to spare you my most burdening traits.  Worth subsides and I do not adapt.
I, the killer of spirit. The bearer of disdain. I have become so fucking lethargic.  The shards of the sky may not fall upon me;
Wearing a cloak of air and wind from the sea.  My corrosive nature, too long I have worn;
Shaking speech limits me in scorn.  A fallen branch soon to be swept away;
A warning to any who may dare to sway.  Graven pathways too are riddled in obstacle;
I operate on the hope that content may someday be plausible.  Though the wares of the spirit do not warn us enough;
Among the crumbling pity, withering rock into dust.  The wordless scheme a surveyor in triumph;
The modern man’s worth is built on reliance.  The morbid longing that I harbor is of course for you;
The greatest things yet feel like a dream untrue.  The thermometer drawn by a couple degrees;
The waxing of winter welcomed by more than a breeze.  Uncovering the markings of what was once creation;
Where is now the rusted past fracture of ruin.  Within a state unstable, unsure through the years;
Life should always be lived to the point of tears.  The authors of heritage tell of our trivial nature;
Insurgents do not shudder in the face of danger.  Creating more as we run out of stairs to climb;
We sink our feet into the sands of time.  I do not accept the ephemeral nature of this moment;
[3/4 Might be in need of talking]  I do defy thee impermanence, however potent.
[4/4 Might be staring directly at me]  The oxidation of constant routine causes my psyche to rust;
Reach now and you may capture it, my spirit turned to dust.  My state of unrest, I sleep in negligible dose;
For I show signs of ruin, but only if you look close.  Realizing the life I ought to be living shows a deficit in merit;
Though are few and far between the traits I hoped inherit.  When I’m hurried I do stagger, misplaced steps falling to tears;
My wretched breath is all I own, in the defeat of incumbent years.  Having not an idle state and ever enveloping in woe;
When the tide of adventure grinds to a halt, where am I to go? |
