been running around in circles
like a dumb, happy wolfhound.
heavy memories and dreams
have become luxuries;
it's time to move on
and make amends with the future.
maybe find me somewhere in the middle,
in a simple town, working a simple trade,
no longer dumb, just content and invisible
on a couch of my own in a living room
called home.
a healthy hitman taking out doubts
for good and grand with a hammer.
all that is needed is a rocking chair,
a knife, wishes and whiskey, and a new start.
it's okay to be grey, but also be new.
there is night in my heart,
but maybe a mountain of day can be found
somewhere where the air is fresh
and followed by gambling hands,
betting on me and my status
on this weird sphere.