Fighting Fish

Oh Swimming in a snifter, pretty as a picture Don't get it twisted man, her bite is a bitch You can name, you can keep her But take care when you feed her You never can take the fight out the fish Chomping at the drill bit, never one to still sit You can test my mettle with a magnet and some tin snips Ink test, all I see is canines and some wing tips Pilot pen in pocket I'm riding instinct and ink jets Around here we don't like talk of big dreams To stand out is a pride, a conceit To aim high is to make waves, to split seams But that's not what it seems like to me 'Cause I wanna try, I wanna risk And I don't wanna walk, rather swing and miss I'm not above apologies but I don't ask permission Got a lot of imperfections but I don't count my ambition in 'em Zeno's arrow never hits the mark It's always hanging there over its shadow Safe from battle, waste of archer's time and trouble Waste of effort, waste of parts If you don't aim for the center, it's a waste of the art I didn't come looking for love I didn't come to pick a fight I didn't come to wave or take pictures Pander to some benefactor, ring on every broken finger Won't extend my wings to be clipped I know the culture here is to stay humble but shit If we all go round bowed heads, button-lipped If none of us go for the bell then who is My mother says I've loved too many men But I took and left something in every single bed The rook can look left, right, just turns his head But the knight might rise up, investigate the grid Gender, genre, guess I'm on one, bent both Just the constructs of the old world gone broke Women, children, let me tell you, I've been both And it's a myth we all swim for the life boats I didn't come looking for love I didn't come to pick a fight I come here every night to work And you can grab an ax, man Or you can step aside Zeno's arrow never hits the mark It's always hanging there over its shadow Safe from battle, waste of archer's time and trouble Waste of effort, waste of parts If you don't aim for the center, it's a waste of the art Self-self-self-taught, self-made, bet, self-styled Self-saw, self-came, self-took island of converts To conquer is old school We marchin' in Converse Just armed with our own tools While my knees still flex While my joints hold steady Mind sharp, spine straight, Chucks laced, ready I travel by kite, travel light At touchdown I swallowed the dice I make my own luck now Zeno's arrow never hits the mark It's always hanging there over its own shadow in the dark Its own shadow in the dark