What a fleeting art;
straight from the minds' eye.
How many coins
have been lost
from the ripped
pocket of time?
Where's the money now?
What do you get
as thanks
at the end of a long road?
A smatter of claps
from the void?
'I do it because I enjoy it.'
says the swollen heart
but what does it mean?
A spotlight on the
gravestone
as the next band plays.
Happiness justifies
this old,
lonely soul
and I need nothing
from you.
I'm a captive either way.
