Holding Hands In The Moonshine
How is your loneliness?
Is your solitude your fortitude?
Still doing the sentence and penance,
For your crimes of being rude?
How could you ever know?
And so now you know too well.
Like balls your thoughts bounce off the walls,
And there’s no-one left to tell.
In a world too full of people,
How can you be so all alone?
Here, the moonshine is clear,
And truth is etched in stone.
Place the brain in a pickle jar,
Store it on the highest shelf.
Affix your stare into the mirror,
Until you can see yourself.