The Road Not Long Enough

Just a bike ride,
In the night,
Where the animals follow the light,
To find shelter,
To find hope,
Like the razor in time for the angry man's dope.

And the moonlight,
Is countered,
By eyes.

And she waits under the trees,
The stars following me,
And the world wears a mask,
With balloons at each ends,
And the task,
To professionally pretend.

The lake was gone,
And the sea was invalid,
I told her to look for a key,
A sign,
A ballad.

You're drowning,
But you can't swim.

A gritty remark,
Am I that dim?

And then a war ensues,
Between dissatisfaction,
And moths do wait,
In orderless actions,
And you leave me,
With a doubt,
Or a growing sense of decision.

Somebody is in your arms now,
Somebody else seeks out your throat,
And that somebody,
Is the body,
Of reflections,
On that lake.

Because the key,
And the sign,
And the ballad,
Is an angel,
That you ridicule.

And angel,
That I took,
To be you.

And the stars all agree,
That the leaves,
And the veins,
Made up of copper terrains,
Are a nightmare.

As the bike ride,
Of the night,
Ends,
With me there.

And the wolves,
Like the squirrels,
Stalk the arms of endearment,
Like elation,
Like a rogue.

Like a nation of hungry frogs.