Why I Do

An kind of abstract piece that stems from a struggle I have.

I fumbled the ball
I lost it all
To an ivory hand
To a derelict band
From a wayward desire
From the way they conspire
At the moral decay
At the fornicator's lay
Through my own second-guessing
Through a time fast compressing
When Doc knocks on my door
When they call me a whore
While the moon is alight
While the fire burns bright
What the Foreman is thinking
What my uncle is drinking
Why the bird softly cries
Why a hope always dies
Where the antelope run
Where the damage is done
Who rings the dumb bell
Who is frigid in Hell
I remembered my name
I played that bad game
To a wandering thought
To what my action hath wrought,


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