Foofaraw

The gears are grinding behind my mind,
Trying to straight everything into a line.
There's too much to handle,
Wondering why I'm carrying pairs of sandles.
When I'm already wearing someone else's shoes.

I think that the sandles are now in the air,
In it's place is band-aids that are meant for care.
And all I can do is fumble and fall,
My hobbies seem too dull.

I stare right to the sun,
Blinded, I can see noone.
But for sure there's a shadow in my vision,
the cause of my sight being shunned.

I'm walking down a tightrope,
Umbrella in hand for when I fall.
So I could do it gracefully,
A beautiful exit.
But for me I rather scream & make a scene,
Then stay quietly in my seat.