Testo On The Back Of Every Pole, On The Side Of Every Wall

In the center of all that is grey and unsure, confused and misled -
I'm just another man with another set of ideas and a pen in hand.

And as these layers crack one above the other,

The Claves of accusation are drumming right past my fucking head.
I can only promise to be human and try my best to be aware.
And to my friends and to my peers - who may have thought of me to be someone I wasn't
And on the behalf of all great ideas - this is a pitch black that swallows any leading torch.
Of loveless impulse, and mutual degradation
Are these words familiar, or are they mine alone?

And now all of these loose ends are becoming knotted and awkwardly webbed.
And who am I to speak when I may contradict?
Is there forgiveness left in this world for a hypocrite?

Following an example told in youth's past,

"Race the hazard with the spirit of youth, struggler."

Make do with what you have, and make sure that this life lasts