Crippled, pickled, plumbed and dumb, string me out for another year
Itís wet again, Iím wet again, why canít I find the focus of yore?
Have you tried?
Yes Iíve tried
Have you failed?
Yes Iíve failed
And what has it made you into?
A forgotten dream from far away, a slow locomotive chugging onwards to the end of the fucking track
Iíll find my perspective the only perspective, and the view will be gloriously sad Iím sure
Impetus denied, even though Iíve strived through my own complex emotions
Iím finding all thatís sad, Iím finding all thatís mad to become quite palatable of late
Yet will I fade away with nothing else to say?
I doubt it
I find great strength in the infirm, great resilience within the decay
Great greatness in the slowing motion of my own pathetic endeavours
A fortified despair, which elicits mirth to raise the corners of my mouth
I will keep on, I will keep on, I will keep on keeping on
Until the bitter end of my post personal line
Forgetting all opinions of the others, fine
Quivering In stale boots no more
A chunk of cheese to the cold hard flags of the floor
Slow motions take the breath away
Forever sustained in the perpetual rain of a grim, forgotten yesterdayÖ
Cannot detect a single tear, now that the motion has utterly ceased to be
Incessant, clement, tumbling ball of chaos down the garden path
Mud, so much fucking mud now
Stone, so heavy
Itís time to grow again
Begin the processÖ