Eyes down, pick up the pace, over the hill? You’re still in the race. There’s life left to live, it’s not just the young. You’re ready to leave? Your song isn’t sung.
The light of day won’t rest your mind, you’re out of sorts, you’ll never find a cure for dreams. A knife to slice the vines of your sweet paradise?
I’m awake, yes I am, I’m awake yes it’s true. But to make myself sure, I’ll just have a quick brew. Colombian?, A dark sense of intrigue foreboding my future procurement of SOMETHING exploding.