I wasn't originally going to post this one, since it doesn't read well on the page... or at least not as well as I would like it to. I wrote this with a melody in mind, and it only really resonates well when spoken (which I don't really do much). I was planning on being done with a bunch of pieces I've been working on, but they're taking longer than expected, so I'm posting this in the meantime.
You're born at a station,
Then put on a curved track.
And I guess the real test is
If you can find your way back.
Every step is a corner,
And every step back's a corner, too.
So every time you come around,
The same thing seems like something new.
You know it only gets murky,
Trying to find some grand scheme.
But you've got to keep moving,
There isn't time enough to dream.
We all know the same amount of nothing,
Nothing to get down, nothing to tell.
And there's nothing to draw from,
No matter how deep the well.
There's dust in the shower head,
Dust in your trail and dust in your teeth.
You lurch toward the horizon,
Hoping somewhere, somehow, there's some relief.
Your watch is busted,
But the hands still point somewhere..
But they don't tell you how far to go
Or how to stop when you get there.