Feeling a little vague, I lay back in a worn out daze

Wondering through life like some kind of maze

Wandering through life like I’m lost in the haze

Watching the smoke that always follows my blaze

Half forgetting the lines that shape my boundaries

That roll out coloring all the smelted foundries

In the color and abundance of a needful gold

Laced across the pages of dreams that often unfold

There in the words rests my favorite messed up part

Where the hero falls for the lies of his broken heart

Willfully preferring the blind and not so subtle illusion

That at least provides a sense of purpose and not confusion

There in Morrison’s whisper is the ember of getting out alive

No one does, I think, as I look into the mosh pit waiting to dive