Hard to believe that this is home
When there's so little consolation
The sky opens its arms to me
But I'm tethered to hope- my fickle friend
And you want me to love her
And you want me to trust her
But there's too much mirage and stagnation...
And fatigue surmounts me
Yet I'm wide awake
Tilling for nominal growth
At her behest
And you want me to love her
And you want me to trust her
Then hoist me up so I can humor you
And I will try to turn a deaf ear to
The screaming, the laughing, the pell-mell transpiring around me
