Grim Rhythm Of A Beleaguered Psyche
You will have to find a way,
And it won't be done quite easily.
No coin could help you.
Just listen well to what they say.
How many fingers do you see?
The light seems bright as sin.
The guilt crawls back again over, out, inside our skin.
You have to pick the best shining option when inside your pen,
The ink is your blood, and you're soul's the price you have to pay.
Golden paths are not seen by eyes unsearching.
Heathens never see the light.
