No refuge.

Got enough to get by.
Don’t wanna stop where it’s almost right.
Can’t find the things I willingly left behind.
Are you still here? Don’t give me that pitying eyes.

What am I missing? Youth & the idiocy that was burning me alive?
The transgressions, the stares, the incomprehensibly oppressed.
One day I found a match, lit a fire, then danced in the moonlight.
Channelling the greatest, the freest of the spirits and of the mad.

When I came back, the chains were broken, no longer could tell me otherwise.
Hush now, hush, hush, we don’t talk about the things that are behind.
What have we been building on if not heaps of feel-good lies?

Time marches on, the drum beats along, our merry little band all drunk.
Care for a refill? What’s your poison? 9-5 or something strong?
Sell the care, sell the grace, all for a couple more days’ hand to mouth.
Don’t know why, but I think I will be fine with no refuge in sight.

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