And where is this kindness that you're seeking, where is this hand that you're holding, where is this water that's always flowing, where is this space that you're needing for the air that you're taking. Because you know that it's there you know it must be out there somewhere in a single ride ticket or some hazy worn down stare, but your eyes can only narrowly guess down a single hallway of things you've taken for granted and no longer have left, but you try to remember, you try to maintain your glancing look, but you're frantic to discover it won't be found on the back of a book. Because hope is just a word that maybe you said or maybe you heard on some busy side street or a flattened down curb, it's not in the people that are gallantly laughing or the faked out fools who are always mishandling, it's not in the song she's humming or the tune he's strumming, it's not in the corner that you're finding for the night that you're taking and you won't find it in the recourse. But you look and you do your all so best to try but this hope cannot be captured it's impossible to find. So you've figured you've failed in yesterday's drag when you were on another trail and your reins were holding you back, it drives you mad it makes you mean until there's nothing left to do but to walk those few steps until you suddenly old and always unseen. But something keeps on calling, in the distant field beyond this town but your streets are worn out and used like the slow dripping pipe or the growing gaps in your shoes, the neighbourhood you know. You question if there's really anywhere else to turn to so you turn to the rain but you're driven by the wind for the ones that hold the hope turn their noses up way past the sky.
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