I have been retreating into depths I am not mentally prepared for. The chest is constantly heavy with weight and Bossa Nova is not soothing enough. I have quit complaining and chosen to adapt.
Is the king really in charge? Or is this the people who put him there who are? Does he feel that he should lead because he sits in the skin. Or that he feel the need to cos just because he has to, he feels the need to achieve. He is hungry for more, and he must outdo himself to get this.
Then what next? How does he choose which path to walk? Which fruit will satisfy him most?
Heavy is the head. My train of thought has cut through the mountains
And is crushing the forest,
Speeding towards to the coast
The tracks are wrapped in unfamiliar grey anthills
And I cannot see the lines
Just the beach
Do I stop study
Or charge through steady.
Mansa dances in sinking sand
Trying to catch the Sun.