i stay at pitstops and detours like they’re home
when i should pick up these weary feet and go
my eyes are sore from this mile a minute sprint
my heart it wonders if this race is really worth the win
and it’s time to run
but i’m still dragging on this past that weighs a ton
now i’m begging for a parallel of wills
for the scenery and faces to stay still
i love permanance like the friend i never had
and i want innocence to linger longer than your average fad
and i’m not out to live a life of mere content
but it’s more that i am dealing with the fact that i am bent
out of shape and tarnished like the unfinished gold
who wonders if he’ll ever take some useful shape to hold
