Playing Horse in front of My Two-Car Garage Heart

the most pleasant experience to actually see your eyes open. Nothing was painted

or hidden beneath drooping lids. All was alive within and without. Journey's edge is not without calling, but what do you hear without me? For I see only

another mountain rolling toward another night. The world is weary. It is not sleeping. We are moving, but it barely notices our shadows. Wherever you are standing, that ground is blessed. It feels your weight and improves its own 

surprising strength to carry you forward without me. Deep thought is always in your shape

and form. No wind can caress me again until you put your fingers 

there. The world is weary of those beggars drunk with suffering fools. The

weary world is upon all our backs. Eventually, the parade fades into a 

parking lot that wasn't there before. A rockface with no door to gain entrance. Looks 

known, but not introduced by experience. It's the danger of the road. The 

world is a weary place to be traveling from, back to the impossible 

task of finding you, as you always were, home in my heart of 

hearts. The world is a dreary dawn. I'll carry that weight. They'll try to dance 

with you. World weary, I'll never stop. I keep our secret in 

the middle of my lake. They are dusty moths trying to get inside  

lamp light. The weary world will sweep them up off the street, over 

and over, sooner or later. Don't be one of them. I've not forgotten you. This

world feels worn down, gone wrong now. Love ruins everything you know. I

don't believe in those dead excuses. What more can I say? The world 

licks survivor's guilt on a stick. But, listen, mine for you never got 

old, or cold. There's a cobbled Brussel's bridge to cross together, soon, some windy day.