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For All The Days I Stray

For all of the days I stray,
I've been making haste,
I've been chasing after,
My own place in space,

If it's not the world,
Wheres there space for me,
Should I race to Mars?
Does it taste to breath?

Lately life is tasteless.
Life has lost its taste.
I look inside my mirror.
And I see just a face.

Lately I'm evasive.
I contemplate my place.
I contemplate existence.
I guess it's just a phase.

For all the days I stray,
Yes I've been making haste,
There's so much on my tray,
But none of it does taste.

I don't know if it's me,
This cool and groovy dude.
Or if it is my food,
That puts me in this mood...

Lately I've been shady,
Lately I've been grave.
Lately I don't know if I am here
Or far away.

Lately I've been jaded,
Lately I've been brave.
Lately I'm still going on
With promises I've made.

For all the days I stray,
I know you'll know the tone,
I'll make you feel at home,
With poetry and prose.

That's oh so monotone,
Like waiting on the phone,
With just a mono tone,
That never stops to say:

"No I'm not at home" or "Leave you message at the beep."
So you can let the phone play, and lull yourself to sleep.
If they don't ever pick up, you'll know they never were, really there,
But you'll never, really, know where.

For all the days I stray,
In a place, far away.
I wonder,
I wonder where is dear.

I wonder about air.
If it lasts alright?
Or runs out, in the middle,
Of the night.

But I have air to spare!
I can breath all year!
And even then it never leaves me
With a croak to die.

And I have lies to spare,
I'll stick to them all year,
Even though I say I never lie,
It holds a price.

But that's just my disguise.
I wish I, like my principles, were unviced.
I wish I was as nice as I made seem,
But nice is just a dream.

Nice is what you had,
Until you wake up and realize,
That the nice you felt inside no longer feels!
And what does this all mean?

Nice is what you say when you say trifles.
Nice is what you say when you have nothing.
Nothing left to say! Is there nothing, nothing left today?
But the vices and our life that is in vain?

Vanity is frail.
Vanity is planted in our grail. Vanity is candid, but we fail.
We fail to tell the difference from candy and our kale.
It goes to say, how little taste we hail.

But life has its own way! Life is like a knife inside your sail.
And every time the wind blows, it rips up, and in folds,
And never goes away, so even with this wind!
You never blow away!

You race less, when tasteless, this place lets, just face it, and wade.
Through these tasteless days.
Until our buds spring up like a blaze flood,
That washes all stale mud away!

Yes, we prevail.

Yes we set stitches in our sails,
And reinforce the fabric with a rail,
And row our boat, or tow our boats with whales!
And never let things get in our way!

For all the days I stray.


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