The season of change, the rhythm of time I get lost in it somehow and the funny thing is I don't want to be found. I know the path that I'm not to take so I get lost on the straight and narrow when it winds and turns for me I get it too much these days. Cradled like a child till the wounds begin to swell from the heat, my guess is that inside somewhere there's a rotten spot of hate divided within the worm and the plague. You'd cut it like a razor but then the whole would die bleeding to death at the center an exposed me ravaged and mutilated those sad stories are just to good to ignore. Maybe ill find my way home, maybe ill justify my life with one simple act of kindness. To little then it starts again, so helpless but then again, we all are.