When I think of missions,
I’ve failed them all,
but here I am today; can I
do something for the good?
The music plods, and when music
plods, it’s always a funeral march.
I have that fear that pinches
heart and lungs, tells me to grasp.
The egos scattered through my history
frown at me with intricate geometric
shapes that mimic the smallness
of my mind, that howl and dismiss my soul.