Between what I knew and what I lost,
I am a man, though not much,
Somewhere between the brake and clutch.
Look at all the weary people dancing around,
Weary eyes and weary heads stomping happy feet,
Look at all the weary people of the broken crown,
Waiting for a king, tell me what you see.
Rhetor, Rhetor, on the wall,
Makes a sophist of us all.
May the bones sing, the mouth weep,
And the eyes bleed for You.
You were destined for another,
I want you all the same,
We were hopeless to each other,
But I'm still filled with shame.
It's time to break the mold of bearded-wisdom-seers,
My baby face alone sets me apart from my peers,
A boy of the wandering fold, born to learn to roam,
One purpose clear: to grow and die to root the grove.