From this silent room and to the sterile street.
Down the cement, up the pavement, and past the city limits.
Until I'm severed from something I forgot the name of and
I'm swimming through unforgiving ocean swells.
When a corporal stain is meandering a white padded maze.
Maybe I'll find a place where I stop and think
about thinking
about thinking
about thinking
about thinking
about thinking that there is no outside
because an outside is always an inside to somewhere.
But: I was born to walk outside,
so in the meantime I'll just keep walking.
"to write is to write is to write is to write is to write is to write..."
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