The Weight of Life's Precision
by Michael Doyle

Error is the margin of lost control.
The world gradually takes your soul.
The things of this world will cost us pain,
Until we walk beyond the shadow of rain.

Traveling this world on the way out,
The darkest place is to be lost in doubt.
Family and friends can't let go.
It's a three-ring circus - on with the show.

Hitting the road to find a return,
We can't move without feeling the burn.
It's the fragile, delicate proposition,
Everything has the weight of precision.

You can't side-step the dark process.
It's just one more sign that life is a test.
Getting past the point of what's possible,
We grow more than we know that we're capable.

Conquering legions of demons is the second chance,
Skepticism forms itself into a familiar ghost dance.
Each step took us further than we thought we knew.
We color outside the lines we once drew.

Hitting the road to find a return,
We can't move without feeling the burn.
It's the fragile, delicate proposition,
Everything has the weight of precision.

The world spins until once weird is cool.
It seems the pattern made into the rule.
The virtue of never selling out to the game,
This is the stream of accidentally winning fame.

In the musical root that bleeds sincerity,
These are the decades lived in our integrity.
The top of the world is felt from the inside.
There is no wound to this dream of pride.

Hitting the road to find a return,
We can't move without feeling the burn.
It's the fragile, delicate proposition,
Everything has the weight of precision.

(c)May 15, 2026   Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved