on the widward side of leeward, stands a man torn by time,
his only cosolation is that he still stands today,
and though time is uncertain, while it fades like a vision,
something else calls him, its just what it is thats uncertain.
when his ship, lost in rust, and the storm, sank off the coast of nowhere,
this was ruggedness at its norm. no matter how hard he tried, all he would ever be seen as was a dead beat, a loser, someone just too tired.
the black clouds w/ red lining, the old gull w/ nowhere to go,
symbols of freedom, and ho ho! what do you know.
they float in the air and enjoy being blown,
all this man wants to do ,is be still ,and be known.
can he find freedom still? or be swollowed as a shill?
his fate is yet undecided, just another run of the mill.
or is he somehow different, this man on his boat,
now sinking, now running aground in his moat.
this fallacy, and fantasy, rarest indeed,
but low look at others, so many I see.
and no wonder for no freedom, their all in a mess,
for this illusion is what described freedom best.
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