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Levitate past the dead, dead bush
Every soul that passes the gate,
Will never know empty
Fate,
Treading the grass,
Levitate
But still apon two feet,
Swollen
Almost there, refusing to be beat
Around dead bushes,
Hoping that I'll find you
Somewhere besides,
Maybe you are a fish
Beached
On the high tides.
Poor rhythms
Exhaused rhymes
How do these words keep
Rearranging themselves, time after time?
Will never know empty
Fate,
Treading the grass,
Levitate
But still apon two feet,
Swollen
Almost there, refusing to be beat
Around dead bushes,
Hoping that I'll find you
Somewhere besides,
Maybe you are a fish
Beached
On the high tides.
Poor rhythms
Exhaused rhymes
How do these words keep
Rearranging themselves, time after time?
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