Henry

It’s always the engine that awaits me
Shakes me, my worry wakes with me
When all the excuses read like scripts, rehearsed, revised, and repeated

Your head is always in the clouds
And those clouds are always pouring down

I’ve learned aggression has a sound, but that even its silences resound
I see the sands span before me, a landscape to mimic my apathy

I fought to keep the desert down
I sought to stand on stable ground
And I still know all the roads that lead directly to your house
And I can only hope that’s where you’re bound

How high do my arms reach?
Could they reach amongst the clouds?
I can only do so much to keep you from heading underground
And I had sort of hoped you might stick around