the predicament
over and under and into and out of my
soul is this dubious damnable doubt which has
puckered my face in a pitiful pout about
which i know not what to do.
i've savoured our selfishness, just she and i but this
table has turned to time with no reply and i
curse and cover my face as i cry about
which i know not what to do.
so i sit on this swing as a tear saunters down to the
dewey deformity of the damp ground and it
falls from my face and makes nary a sound about
which i know not what to do.
over and under and out of and in; i have
wistfully wondered, "how did this begin?" for my
conscience concludes that our love is a sin about
which i know not what to do.
i think my thoughts back to when we first started and
pursue to perceive life if we became parted for i
know that our nights would both be brokenhearted;
i know not what to do.
how has my heart begun to feel this way with my
mumbling mouth knowing not what to say and my
mind and it's meaninglessness turn a soft gray about
which i know not what to do.
over and out of and into and under my
sanities seem to separate, sunder as my
cognitive conscience throbs like a thunder about
which i know not what to do.
is she not surely the love of my dreams? the
only one whom i could love, so it seems? the
questions now quelling against these grand schemes about
which i know not what to do.
perhaps it possibly should have been ended for
i cannot conclude what i have defended but
all of my allures are equally blended; alas,
i know not what to do.
out of and into and under and over my
menacing mind, malign, and moreover my
thoughts have been driven by some unseen drover about
whom i know not what to do.
over and under and into and out of my
soul is this dubious damnable doubt which has
puckered my face in a pitiful pout about
which i know not what to do.
~sam mcgwin
soul is this dubious damnable doubt which has
puckered my face in a pitiful pout about
which i know not what to do.
i've savoured our selfishness, just she and i but this
table has turned to time with no reply and i
curse and cover my face as i cry about
which i know not what to do.
so i sit on this swing as a tear saunters down to the
dewey deformity of the damp ground and it
falls from my face and makes nary a sound about
which i know not what to do.
over and under and out of and in; i have
wistfully wondered, "how did this begin?" for my
conscience concludes that our love is a sin about
which i know not what to do.
i think my thoughts back to when we first started and
pursue to perceive life if we became parted for i
know that our nights would both be brokenhearted;
i know not what to do.
how has my heart begun to feel this way with my
mumbling mouth knowing not what to say and my
mind and it's meaninglessness turn a soft gray about
which i know not what to do.
over and out of and into and under my
sanities seem to separate, sunder as my
cognitive conscience throbs like a thunder about
which i know not what to do.
is she not surely the love of my dreams? the
only one whom i could love, so it seems? the
questions now quelling against these grand schemes about
which i know not what to do.
perhaps it possibly should have been ended for
i cannot conclude what i have defended but
all of my allures are equally blended; alas,
i know not what to do.
out of and into and under and over my
menacing mind, malign, and moreover my
thoughts have been driven by some unseen drover about
whom i know not what to do.
over and under and into and out of my
soul is this dubious damnable doubt which has
puckered my face in a pitiful pout about
which i know not what to do.
~sam mcgwin