Changing sets between the scenes, stagehand shakes and mainland dreams. Not quite doubts but not quite clean. Will I make a mess if I mess with things?
Status quota, quote the writer, I felt I had to stow the lighter, but dull is dull and left is brighter, like moth to porch, the torch desire.
I've sang the lay of the land so long that my throat is sore and my voice is gone. The choice is slim, one hand belongs, one hand's adrift, both are moving on.
And I hope I land but if I slip, then I'll be back quick as a powder trip. What would I lose, what would I quip? There ain't no shame in sinking ships.
Lil' big plans and an unclear goal, but sooner or later I had to go. I've seen too many western strolls to cling inside this hobbit hole.