Sometimes the sounds of necessity
drill into your head like pure anger
close eyes and count to infinity
drive the needle back from red danger
all the paths the switchback turnings
dodging the bullets and wielding the knife
tell yourself it’s all leading somewhere
tell yourself this is not your life
I get used to all the noise and static
the drone of endless vigilance
I get inured to the lost and erratic
random walk of circumstances
I put it all on this number, that one
it never amounted to much though
it always sounded like a plan would be fun
but I always broke down to touch and go
I should be happy with all I’m given
what pathetically passes for strife
but if it were you wouldn’t you like me
ache for there to be more to your life
what
2 comments:
strife -> life is beneath you, fine sir.
Is this a critique of the rhyme scheme? I guess it's not the freshest invention in verse, but when you do it every day sometimes you get what you get, brother. And/or sister.
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