Need new sentinels to man the perimeter of my dreams,
A parameter as fickle as screams,
They come with the mood,
But I could do without their whims.
The full moon is coming soon,
Which means the soothing feeling is up to something new.
The summer’s turned grey as a somber december,
The now I’m living looks like the middle of May.
If it changes, it’s good, and maybe I’ll stay.
Each moment was cheap,
As I recall, I watched the dreary time steep.
My attitude’s gone to grieve,
Even platitudes that used to make me believe, –
They’re whispering it’s time for them to take their leave.
This nomad May’s turning bleak,
I’m reasoning while I seat and hope the search in turn
Leads to scenes with time that’s fun to live.
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