In daylight he’s sleepwalking, at night he lies awake looking at the stars daydreaming.. .
I struggle not to slake this ache that shakes me, it makes my dreams, then breaks them and wakes me,
I struggle to not be in a muddle, to be a rake befuddled, and take a lake as if it’s a puddle.
It’s a doddle to diddle and be in the middle fiddling, instead of looking like I’m piddling whilst my mind is twiddling,
it’s a riddle how to walk straight when you’re twoddling, but I guess cuddling is muffled coddling, and you have to hustle hard to model a sovereign!
The weight of our choices, and the gravity of our final condition, rests solely on our own shoulders. But remember, your circle of friends will either be a garland or a noose on the Last Day.