you pick a quiet path that leads you to the end of day.
quiet like a sunday afternoon.
monday morning comes and almost motivates a change,
but all attempts depending on your mood.
it's hard to let the sun compel you with endless energy
when you're more like the ever-changing moon.
you wax until you sparkle with a incandescent shine,
then wane until you're drained and out of tune.
so you ebb, but then you flow.
the to and fro distorts the goal.
you know better than you think.
it's better you should worry than to be sorry.
but all the energy you keep, throw it out there,
it's all or nothing.
you're the girl who wants the world to beg to hear her sing.
but first you got to figure out the song.
you don't have to explain your inconsistencies to me.
those stories can be written later on.
the end should be the same.
you don't have to play devoted slave.