Three quarter sweep
the last hour keeps
me glued to the screen
try to figure what you mean
I’ve let too much slide
pushed by sadness and pride
Should let the small stuff go
I still sweat it though
another day I didn’t
start that little thing
another day rushing
to write a song I well
may never sing
And I don’t even value my pride anymore
and the sadness looks so very much like a door
and I prattle along
and I call it a song
and the last quarter sweeps
for the rest
its own council keeps
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