Anxious Robot (I'll be)
Because I'm most likely coming down with the cold that everyone else around me has, i'll make this brief.
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In drifts of sleep I came upon you
Buried to your waist in snow.
You reached your arms out: I came to
Like water in a dream of thaw.
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Robotic is something i could all to soon be getting used to. I worked a 13 hour double shift yesterday starting at 10am. But all of that matters not in the grand scheme of things. I think the point is actually that I have no purpose at all. It's easy to say we're making rational decisions when simmering at the bottom is the fact that you have no idea what's going to happen. In all seriousocity, what is going to happen? Do we lose ourselves in drifts of sleep waiting to be rescued by something that doesn't exist? I think the problem lies more within myself than looking to others to explain...
Sometimes I feel I cannot grow; I have no shadow to run away from, I only play...
Because I cannot hope to know again,
Because these wings are no longer wings to fly,
I flounder among streets like arid rivers
Repeated sights and sounds wizz by;
The earthen ground tucked in a thick frosty blanket,
Houses; the birth of cities...
Because I canoot hope to fly again,
Since no one carries Angel wings,
To take them up into the night's sky,
The restless silence of the stars...
Stuck on new-fangled trails,
Nostalgia besets me,
Yet I should not hope to think again,
of soft kisses, now cold and dry on windburnt cheeks.
Now I lay myself down in comfort,
But I cannot hope to know anew,
Who I am.
--------------------------
In drifts of sleep I came upon you
Buried to your waist in snow.
You reached your arms out: I came to
Like water in a dream of thaw.
-------------------
Robotic is something i could all to soon be getting used to. I worked a 13 hour double shift yesterday starting at 10am. But all of that matters not in the grand scheme of things. I think the point is actually that I have no purpose at all. It's easy to say we're making rational decisions when simmering at the bottom is the fact that you have no idea what's going to happen. In all seriousocity, what is going to happen? Do we lose ourselves in drifts of sleep waiting to be rescued by something that doesn't exist? I think the problem lies more within myself than looking to others to explain...
Sometimes I feel I cannot grow; I have no shadow to run away from, I only play...
Because I cannot hope to know again,
Because these wings are no longer wings to fly,
I flounder among streets like arid rivers
Repeated sights and sounds wizz by;
The earthen ground tucked in a thick frosty blanket,
Houses; the birth of cities...
Because I canoot hope to fly again,
Since no one carries Angel wings,
To take them up into the night's sky,
The restless silence of the stars...
Stuck on new-fangled trails,
Nostalgia besets me,
Yet I should not hope to think again,
of soft kisses, now cold and dry on windburnt cheeks.
Now I lay myself down in comfort,
But I cannot hope to know anew,
Who I am.