Should I cross that high bridge
And climb that steep ridge
And climb that steep ridge
Should I take on those woes,
Dare to put on the brave shoes
To walk these hard streets
Or buy myself two cold feet?
Should I dare to strife
with things that come to head in life?
Or should I put up these cold feet
With a drink neat in retreat,
Watching life as it passes by?
I'll catch it another day before I die.
Tired to the bone, back I sit,
I'm done, just eff it!
What's the damn point, I rage, I rant
Two cold feet I firmly plant
Comfortably frozen, I stand rooted...
But the voice in me, refused to be muted.
As I look to push away the plate of grits,
A shadow glosses over my nits
Over my flaws, a tapestry knit,
She resets the pieces to a future fit.
I hear a slow rumble in tummy pits...
Are those antsy butterfly flits?
Or are those, long gone embers, relit !
