I would often wander around, carrying my little piano, playing to the sound of my own drum.

I often too would forget that risk taker in me has no faith in this believer. I’d continue dreams of failure, rather understanding a winner’s salvation.

And then I would think, God must really pay attention to me. He must really have his hands in my pot of gold.

as if it was mine to start with.

As success walks towards me, I think too much into about the next chance I could take. Why do I make my bed like Amy’s and continue this dream of failure.

My heart can’t take another break up, so I’d better get going as the going gets deep. His heart flows like a river in an earthquake and still my heart beats to such risk.

can’t I better wake from this evil dream.

And it all seems to real to be deep enough for me. The more chances I take, the more I win. But you see, I’m betting on a losing heart. I’ve got air to breathe, but his breath is in a rut between my lungs.

and that’s when you know it’s love. Shoot.

I wasn’t too fond of this place. It gave me aches, growing pains, and healed my bruises. Perhaps, what is more? Where do I draw from next. That’s my continuing cycle.

I breathe one lobe in and it softens, the next lobe, why I oughta suck in so tight even the cement would break next to a brick by brick wall.

There is much of this chance that keeps knocking on my door step. But I’ve traveled to the near end and there’s nothing more but another corner of wonderment.

I’m stuck in his goop and I’ve fallen out of place, but my mind keeps shaking to that subtle rattle snake.

I love the blues, more than the blues loved to paint.

One day I’ll wake up from this matrix of a dream. But to only then wake; to a man’s steps walking back to me.

I’m not scared of this ol’ thing, but if this was back n the day, I might would have want to jump in front of the bullet.

No love lost.