In a chat about forever we forgot about today, what good is morning this old world with eternity on its way? We believe in leaving our grand mark as we pass on through this life, so often taken from our track as we wrestle for the knife. Slumbering at daybreak hot sun upon our backs we suddenly see our planning and the precision that it lacks. By day we are bright warriors at night we turn our hearts to darkness and decision that is how the problem starts. we’ve forgotten of the power that those with life most often wield there’s no hope of making glory when your being carried on your shield. The songs they sing so sadly as if someone important went away when asked who it is they sing about they are hesitant to say. I am nothing but a player in this manuscript out of time, my creation my only error and my humanity my only crime. Sometimes I am doing poorly but better than most get I’m yet to find my glory a reputation is all I get. So based upon the word of mouth we spread the fear to come it raises the hackle for most people but puts the anger back in some. It’s not so bloody likely that we eventually must fail to believe that we go down so young is just beyond the pale. Tried by conventionality having walked through crucible we find our memories vivid and our capacities at full. The suggestion float by lonely whispered to ghost and men yet come. I thought my willful nature was better meant then some. In hopeful consternation and fully apropos we set out to Tucumcari but we traveled much too slow. All at once but then quite slowly the balloon began to burst caught in the middle of the killing lands with no grasp of our great thirst. For we met the limits of this lifetime the tragedy for most, is just when wisdom comes upon them they are already become a ghost. Too rash for liquidation not worthy of the print we cast the silver softly and strike it thrice to mint. In august agitation too early for the spring we find our perspicacity was prescient for just about anything. The engines they hummed loudly as if offering to speak the axles twisted slowly as we road right through the creek. All gibberish and nonsense find repose in this odd story how we thought that leaving Jersey would someday lead to glory. There is no ship a coming no happy waiting port no storybook of perfect porridge nothing of the sort. The character’s too stupid to free themselves from jail the captain and the magistrate expecting them to fail. A wondrous adaptation of a story that once made sense it’s early iteration so adjust for my defense. Weep softly for the maiden though she’s wicked and quite green the hero just forgot her and went on to another scene. How rich the publication how short attention span we follow as we ‘re able interpreting as best we can. The Long of the short of it were lengthened or nipped a bit. If you can’t convict just don’t acquit the public wants to throw a fit. The moment is the glory and the story is the song we write and sing with every wind not knowing where we’ve gone wrong.