Struck

some say it's a winding road

it get's a little too pumpy for me

sick of running over potholes

on flat from running over glass bottles

been in the middle of the street

every since I've tried to cross

somehwere in the middle of lost

in the great divide, in the center

of the other side, where the

road is open wide like the weaved

web covering the eyes of the lame

who cme with stick and cane

to entertain wax and wane

walking on the moon to

spite the sun into somber

the sounds of train passing

roaring the earth like thunder

born with mirrior vision

see through twisted intentions

don't plan to come in too soon

out here talking to the moon