I spend my days with the view..
Dreaming complicated images of you
When it feels; it feels
And with the reels of stories mounting
I can’t seem to shake these confusions

A sense of life confined to a word
Four letters I’m sure you have heard 
You cannot kill, you can’t destroy your truest self
But then in my ropes you write the perfect blurb

In my harness, splayed like the art you are
Trying to halve this, but splitting myself thus far

What’s the problem?
Now; what’s the problem?

Thinking something’s new
Ill-conceived and only partly true
I wish I really knew…

In my chest, and in my heart
You stole something that set you apart
What in the world, man
Left me so confused
Asking the question, where are you??

Now I spend my days like a screw
Torquing/winding just to get through to you
But then your mellifluous charm spices the intercom
..And I’m ready…

Where’s the problem?
Now; where’s the problem?

Feeling something blue
Heavy-hearted; what a fucking mood!
I guess I’ll come to know…

Thinking something rude
Red shoots upon the art that’s you
I wish I really knew what’s going on…

The Question Demo 20.02.23

Monkberry Demos