Monday, February 21, 2011


One must hate himself if he hates his shadow,
Everything it stands for, but who's the one standing?
Cut down the middle, split – I've meddled
Like civil war, a country bent – but standing.

So when it falls, will I rise?
If it's the moon, am I the tide?
If I blame my luck on his stride,
Will the sun shine green on that other side?

Oh, that boy - his wheel/squeaks incessantly,
Don't you hear?
But is that what causes the old floor to creak?
If aged oak is as true as day,
Then let Dylan say as he do,
I am meek as wood, 'tis true.

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