It is not the absence of hard work that derails you from me,
Our passenger carts have spilt long ago.
My time was not well spent
And in the early mornings, which in self-examining procrastination
I come to these alley ways;
The places were I forgot myself,
To only find it was never a part of me
It is you who will lead me on my way.

After I have fled
My memory will not exist.
And you will ponder the mixing of dreams and reality
And wonder how you ever met me
since I was never there at all.