Of age, Or as it should be
So here i am among the lamb,
about as innocent as i am
like anyone before me
didnt partake as should be.
But either way here i sit
drunk as shit,
trying to make sense of all of it.
Rambling like a madman
Among the all seeing all believing bullshit sham
Of life that does not exist
Only between the lines that i give it.
What is there more to see?
Besides and infinitely distant reality
That only exists between the lines
Of what i manage to bring it
The everlasting shit
The only lines of what i can bring it.
It being a word from a language that i cannot describe.
Lines the ascend the transit of time.
Lines that i still sit here and try to translate
Even though is all equates
To not what you imagined.
To nothing that could be imagined.
Through what Lennon tried to create
A moment that is pure and does not correlate, however the fuck you spell that.
Im done for now as you can see
This alcohol has seemingly take control of me
even though it couldnt be further from the truth,
or nearer if thats even a word that comes clear to you