i turn from a pre molded gait
resisting the magnetic steps pulling to heaven
you never try to hold on to the path
it's too well worn, the beds are warm
the dreams, the clouds are torn
hanging on the line, hanging on my mind
whispers sputter and hiss
evaporating in the civilized daylight
vanishing in the empty crowd
it's all i can think about
point a to point c, living between
living between the barricades at a strolling pace
laughing the sand down the hourglass
