I would be inclined to prove what I write,
What I have to say.
I have nothing but chorus’
That belong to blue sky perfect days.
I am a cloudy past.
I am a foggy reminder.
Work must be done, and words must be written.
I believe in the drunk mans dream,
The poetic aspiration of days to come.
Did I write that?
Did I write this?
I will let the conspiracy of today decide,
And respond quietly as if I have no care in the world,
With only my originality I can confide.