True endurance is a lost art.
I want to up performance but my hormones want a pop tart.
Started these weekly verses like a Mormon preaching to stop smarts,
Now I feel like a moron slowly morphing into a pop star...
Wake up early morning but I lie in bed cause fuck it.
Feel I'm growing older everyday soon kick the bucket.
Wish for an adventure, maybe alien abduction?
Like there's nothing that wouldn't beat future investment and function!
Yeah I have a job but damn a job I feel it's useless!
And I keep revising posts instead of flowing with this music,
I could be more verbose I could have a creative movement on the side...
I blame it on winter - all I've got is loose excuses!
Fuck all this confusion, do I need a todo list?
Though I've had todo lists too till doodling dues was all I was doing,
But the computer calender's in my view it's such a similar distraction,
I write down shit I need to do or all the shit that will happen.
Wish I was napping. I wish I was relaxing!
My buddies take it easy they watch TV me I'm rapping,
Soon as I reach the break point when I feel like I'm just slacking,
Stuck in a stream of dues so thick I can't move I can't get traction!
What's my plan man? What is my platform?
What's my artform? Where is my action?
How can I start warm when life is so cold?
Excuse me man it's winter time and... you know.
It's growing old. I'm growing old.
I had different plans! I've sold my soul.
I'm not in control. My projects are all in the bowl.
I eat them man I eat them but I just can't swallow this load.
Wallowing all on my own. Here for a session.
What is the lesson, it's winter: the great depression?
Or a midlife crisis? But amidst these vices,
I glimpse nice skies the night is grim like ISIS!
My bowl of rice is just a blob of carbohydrates.
I'm Bob and I'm great I'm better than all you primates.
So I'll carve my rice cake and make bars that I break
So the stars align above the barn beside lake.
It's my summer vision man, wish I could get back to...
Sitting with creased khak's and green kneecaps weeding the beet and celery leaf patch!
Cutting down trees and chopping them up at sunset,
And writing my daily verses at bedtime cause I ain't done yet.
For all my winter I've got regret in loads,
And man I bet it shows if you inspect my prose,
When we lived in warmer countries I never felt so closed,
I'd just dispel all woes with whatever! Friends were close!
This life is dense, I bend it till it makes sense,
I spend time with old friends, but never feel like they really comprehend...
I get a heavy head from staying up late, I play games every day,
To get away from the rain,
My pen isn't led but shame is embedded in every grain,
And with purpose I paint the shade of a hurt I don't feel I... contain,
Are these just words with no truth? Just another worthless excuse?
Do I just keep surfing on moot doing nothing till curtains reboot?
And it's another day I feel like something gray is perched inside...
But this gray matter keeps the surge alive with the words I write.
It's curtain time... I'm certain. Fine. I'll write until I stop heart.
True endurance is a lost art.