Many hours at the carousel
Postcards from far from home
Sometimes I feel as useless as my empty words, old presidents' dogs, clean paws, no dirt-
What do these words mean?
Sometimes I just don't know.
Sometimes I just can't see where it is I go-
I waste my whole day thinking over things I've said
And avoiding myself like the plague in my head
I know that You see me
And I know You're about me,
That's why You let me roam another 10 miles-
Where does all this lead, and why must I follow it?
Nothing is black and white,
(Even me, I must admit).
I jot down the facts and work on consistency,
But open up the closed door;
It's George, and the cat, and me.
My shifting eyes like sands cannot focus on the void,
"Get thee behind me, Freud."
I'm grasping at straws and the bale is almost gone;
The fire's grown much too dim,
Nights grow much too long-
I am holding things Yours,
Not mine while I should cling to You
Like a cow beneath the light of a highway sign.