My mind is like my pen It has extensive use
I’m in a pensive mood
and my lessons few are far in between n teach me less than news
you see I’ve seen the angels in red
In the place of the dead
And the graves of the less
on the hospital beds and the patients in rest
I’m awake in my breast but not brave in my chest
for when I’m in the funeral place
and I’m facing what lefts
When I’m on hells roads paved
With the pace in my steps
slowed by the placement of dread
otherwise I’d be racing in tread
instead I brace feh what’s next
And I note the road has been paved the faces of death
It’s between fear n phobia Borders the lines, for when the form that is life turns the corner of time
And its lost in the storm or the light
The out lands are outlandish
Staying inside is protection from those
Who Realize my reflections gone cold
I must die, tho my intentions not so
The Faces of the dead stretch through the zones
So here lies the question, when will my methods run old,
And I’m done with my steppin’
And become a step in the road.
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