On the tip of the mind, Something exists there, Can I get it to come out and play? What must I do, To cajole it out of its hiding spot, Wedged in so deep, Never budging from its haunt, Crashing, banging, clashing, clanging, Nothing seems to work, What recourse is left, But to shirk, Around its blindside, Push it until, It works, And off the tip it will come, To ...
A rope of thorns at the top, A place where blood does not stop, In the pale moonlight, A dance commences, Stamping ground further down, Swaying back and forth, Beneath the silent watch, Of tall guardians, Never reaching the other side, For one cannot scale, A rope of thorns at top.
What has it all been for, For naught, Or is this a mad vision, Wrought by one's own hand, A simple dream, a simple plan, Lost in the endless shuffle of human man, To what end, was it ever really said, Or was it always on the wind, Carried by the breath, Never knowing, A path or the end, Dreams of what might be, And ...
