To swim and not to reach

The contours of your shore

An eye in the coldness of the dark

It sees but not really.

To know and not to feel

 The fullness of your soul

 Just a droplet in a vast desert

It is there but not really.

To wait and not to see

The outcome of your years

Speck of dust in the wind

 It was there but not really.

 To die and not to love

The life that was given

Would be an empty ball pen writing

 You were there but not really.

Mud honeys fly across his busy street

As he finds his own way to his rock n’ roll dreams

Strangers were only blank faces

Wearing their crooked smiles

Their guts feeling up on his nerves

He turns away to slash the dubious strings instead

And Tracy too kind offered him a ride

Down to Olympia where people were like rainbows

Too colorful to his two eyes

But he liked it that way

And slashed his six strings again

He taped his musings and stayed inside for a while

Taped his hundred linens to the ceiling

To catch the eager flies and so Tracy too kind

I guess she really didn’t mind

He’s her pretty poet

Strumming her busy strings inside

Later this alien monk moved up to the city

He scratched the songs in his head not wanting

To be wanted and fight the corporate machines

From under the ground he was seen

By starred white striped people

He walked his way up to the scene

But the pain from his burning pit he tried to hide

With the sweet painkillers he sought to smile

For the tours and for Love and his little green bean

Black turned to grey as things went easy

But what he loved before

He loves ‘til now without the light

Maybe even before that nevermind came out

Some time later the boy from Aberdeen

Blew up a hole right through his head

He found no more passion

Nor mud honeys for that matter