There comes a fork in time, a split in the road, one less traveled, one unexplored. There is a total abandonment of the now, the mundane. The everyday repeated back roads that lead to nowhere. Stumbling along this broken path, trapped by the longing to go solo. Every thought leads to the same, every action wants to try again, the break away from the bore and fodder, the surreal landscapes that desolate the soul.
When last did you feel a smile, eyes igniting at the sight of pure, when last did I feel a smile. I don’t feel much at all, little less than once before. There’s no more reason to sink even further. Pack a bag, fuck don’t pack at all, run now with what you can hold, the days are sliding closed, the time is dripping gold. One day there’s no more, and black will take its hold, don’t let the night creep in that fast, let your nomad take a march