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The guys around screaming football goals — their joy to keep the schedule

In slow motion — in my mind screen — while I try to mend the heart That didn’t want to wake up today

Every time I feel like my sadness is overflowing I try to approach it as a concept, because that’s the Only way I could handle it On my own I write it, I’m not a good painter, not a good singer

My visual perspective are holographic blurs of dried oak leaves My voice is so buffled in dismay

And somedays are just to pad life out