The wasting season.
The sorry moments sad without a cause or reason.
The screw renews its turn;
The blazing sunshine goes,
Glory passed me by wearing winters bones.
And my elation turn to sodden fear,
Sink my feet in to earth turned soft by tears.
How to turn this day
In to something kind?
Feels like peace and quiet are difficult to find.
The screw renews its turn,
And there is only she.
I stand unmoving here, her arms surrounding me.
So what's the point of this life,
Or even living.
Nothing changes for me.
I can see it there,
Fearful but strong.
Tell me I don't want to die.
Because I think I might.
I think I might.
I think I'll drop.
I think my tired heart might choose to cease and stop.
The screw renews its turn.
And creaking wood might crack.
And leave me paralyzed, laid up and broken backed.
But it's a lie.
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