tired of the anger
and the, ‘when will i learn’
take it, throw it away
what is the use,
of these strange strange days

you have all –
taken a piece of me
i have played the bastard
and strummed your violins
i have been the flawed answer
when you did not know where to begin

you log fires have left me cold
your attachment to detachment
makes me feel old
your sunken ship
that you raise from the sea bed
starts to slip

this is the place
a crossroads
with a story to tell
sometimes i see shadows
of another me, one that fell