12 holes older since the time I fell asleep.
My dreaming time is faulty and the downfall is too steep.
Endless days of labour are now showing up and the thoughts are piling up and the inside world is getting wrecked by the tides misdirection.
In the dawn of every day, I can tell my spirit’s willing.
A dozen urges of denial and my body is just reeling.
Endless days of rest is the only wish at hand but they’re high on demand and the pursuit of dreams is getting lost in the seas of misdirection.
The Renaissance Man