Too many questions,
always asking why...
Never able
to let it die
without compiling her say
in her syncretistic way...

Child of a
drifting on
the changing air,
languishing with
seeming ease
clinging to her
sweet disease...



and yet
no one else
believes her...
no one else
relieves her fears...

And in her heart she knows
it doesn't really matter
but still she wishes, sometimes
she didn't feel so scattered

on the detritus
of life and love
flowing from the
light above
a smattering
of lunacy
thru the tides
of an ebon sea
if only you could see...
if only she could see...

It's a small matter
of belief
and yet it causes
so much grief
for those who never
seem to fit
are treated like
a piece of shit
from either side
of the debate
until you start
to suffocate
and think to leave
the whole damn thing
knowing you can
never win...

And yet you'll say
it's not about who's right
there is no one true way...
And yet you'll say
you don't belong 'round here
your ideas are far too queer...

Fundamental philosophies
from those who seem to critically
condemn dogmatic ideologies...
(never smelling their hypocrisy...)

Never wanted
on either side
and so, alone
she'll ride the tide;
to seek the sublime
and profound
hiding in
the middle-ground...