Slivers of light, the sound of a horn,
Indications that a new day is born.

With water and soap I'll wash away,
All the evidence of yesterday.

The players change, the cycles repeat,
Just wake me up when it's time to eat.

Call me bored, tell me I'm jaded,
It's really not that complicated.

A tear, a frown, a laugh, a smile,
It all blends together after a while.

Dust can tell time without using gears,
Unless you care about counting years.

If we can predict the tides and stars,
Then why not, these little lives of ours.

I watch, again, as the slate is wiped clean,
But I no longer ask "what does it mean"?

When what happens next doesn't make sense,
When hope is mostly in the past-tense.

Cluster-fuck crisis' leave me unfazed,
Now that I'm grazing among the grazed.

Why keep climbing the same mountain range?
I know the view sucks, doubt that will change.

I hope you forgive my unpolished prose,
And lack of comparisons to a rose.

Writing on the wall is plain to see,
It's just "déjà vu" and "c'est la vie".

It seems my heart keeps writing fiction,
Using the same old bloody diction.

I keep asking "where is my savior",
While staring at a clock-shaped glacier.


recyclist

I'm just a cybernetic WarGerbil, writing songs about the human experience. BTW, think you could get me some fresh cedar chips? nbd if not. 

recyclist

Bionicgerbil