East Of The Wall
underachiever
One might still sway on one road, a straight course.
So what wreck unfolds a jagged knotted pile?
I donât even know the way.
Was the exit sign just a photograph of mine?
When we marked the lines, were we all just drunk?
One might creak and shudder away.
Just pave the blood to the road.
Thereâs no blame without records.
No malice, no blame if thereâs no past.
No malice, no blame, with no past and no memoriesâ weight.
No malice, no blame, with no past and no name.
No words, no deeds.
Just smoke to cloud and dissolve.