He plods along
his head hung low,
his past and future
he drags in tow
And dreams as hope
then slowly dies,
of rolling hills
and butterflies
With a steady gait,
this fool of time,
just plods along
life’s hellish climb
And left alone
he bears his wait,
he bares his soul,
and bears his hate
Thus in his mind
he wants to hide,
with wings of dust
o’er pastures wide
Until his steps
lead him one day,
where he can go
to fly away
