Taking licence


I live my life in a grind, and my time in a race

I play the role that’s assigned. and I try to keep pace

But the press that works best has come to wearing me down

The premise wore thin and then it burnt to the grownd

So I bear battles bruskly and I brush from the path

And I pass on pulling idle, Always set to react

In fact it’s just a habit I refuse to reform

Accused of telling tales I refuse to be sworn


One response »

  1. Bad habits die hard, as they say, and the shields we raise about them can be bristling indeed…shells hardened and sharpened by the repetition, and by the press of the world bearing down upon it. Some drift. Some explode. Horror in its finest form…especially when we can’t accept reality. Even if it leads us to being hypocritical.

    One question. Is it supposed to be “burnt to the grown”, as you have it, or did you mean to say “burnt to the ground”? Went back to that several times, wondering.

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