I've learned these years in pulses and rhythms etched
into stone by leaving my heart in too many shells before
really setting into my own.
Take it away. And now I'm going through motions but
not moving on, and I'm expecting irony to linger long
after humor has gone, And what's left to feel when
time tells tall tales of what may have could have never
was, Solutions, Solutions always few and far between.
Yet just ahead, left for dead,
turned aside and abandoned to reality instead.
And so we're aimless caught behind and left without,
its worse than morbid and less than funny the way it's turned out.