what about the days
when you just can't get there
when the sun dries up the mud
and the wind blows through your hair
but you can't breathe
the air so oddly foul
what do you do now
with head wrapped in a towel
capture pleasantries
of life itself
how can you breathe
tormented in stealth
what about the painful days
empty as a void
when no one seems to see you
or am I paranoid
on schedule, things move faster
things that I seek
the whims in my soul grow vaster
down the road which I speak
Oh, the everything is right
and the everything is wrong
we can take it in its reverie
and put it in our song