You go further,
and that means questioning the very root and basis of everything,
and finding the jokes and laughing yourself silly about the nonsensical beliefs you made;
the passions you jiggered up,
the plots and schemes learned, lost, and stolen,
and all of your ambitions tripped up by rules,

All the times you played with the rhymes,
All the windows that lead to wind blows,
And people on earth who supposed your worth,
Times of the day, where you looked for a way,
Tops of soil from a centuries earlier boil,
And you’re all of it, right from the sky to the shit;
And whoever shall say on this most glorious of day,
The bank paid too much attention and sank;
Only with that burden of structure for playing games of attract and rupture,
For everyone in the world of the won
Gets lost in their prayer to become a great player
Of games they make up and patterns of luck,
Leading to times of much fuck,
While cast looks on to find meaning in song,
Of thousands of years between your two ears;
The dragons they slay, calling it play,
The ones with blood, of course, coming home on a horse,
That animal muscle trading work for some hustle,
And looking much farther the character harbors
A knack for some truth at the keys in the booth;
A knowing wry smell, indications of hell;
Then a realization of a grand inner nation,
The playground of crafting on rivers internally rafting;
And all of the time passing by slow as slime,
Some guidance left to be slowly undressed,
Then blown away into stars like so many wars;
Cleared away like mere dust or left here to just rust;

Either way I must say, it was all just a way
To make sight into smile, and see change as a dial;
In fingers not yours, a surrender of sorts,
Your loss of the self; stumbling into pure wealth.