I sit with my head in my hands
Life slipping by,
Not knowing where it will land.
The wind is blowing the dust
To regions yet unseen,
Upon my heart, a dagger is thrust.
The wounds are deep
Though the bleeding shallow,
Bandages wet and seep.
Upon each the time has come
Slowly, one by one.
The slow cadence of a bass drum.
The pain is eased, the light turns bright
Such is the seasons of life.
Such is why I fight.
