Same

 
We are the same you and me, under this sky.
We are impressions; we are painted
stroke by unjust stroke dragged along paper
by fingers of great steel affliction.

We will bleed more easily or difficultly
than in the stills beyond the retinas of others
and we will break and be broken
for love, wealth or any other worth.

We are the same you and me, under this sky.
We are impressions; they'll pour us
into the wind or feed us to the worms.
So let us gently stroll, down the same short road.