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We live like a cycle that spins itself around,
until the gears wear down and it falls to the ground,
what used to go round doesn't even make a sound,
and our laughs turn to cries like the old blood hound.
I was and I am until I will and I ought,
looking back at the toils and the troubles that I fought,
wondering when I would reach everything that I sought,
looking back at 'what could have' instead of what I just got.
Because the last time I checked things were going all well,
and I stopped for a minute to catch the day before it fell,
I looked up at the sky for sunshine and summer smell,
but I blinked too soon and all was red skies and hell.
Too fast too quick, too thin to spread far,
too much to grab at once out of the cookie jar,
our wants in a nutshell, our war before the scar,
our choice to live a life way beyond our destined bar.
But the last time I checked myself I do lack,
the right and the title to yell this kind of yack,
because for myself too, I never cut this kind of slack,
and I fell between the crevasse I did myself crack.
So what more to do: this cycle I will run,
until the gears run rust in the hot humid sun,
start fresh, start anew, t'is the way the game is won,
because the last time I checked, the cycle's re-begun.
Scene.
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| | Posted 4/28/2009 2:37 PM - 7 Views - 2 eProps - 1 Comment
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