Staying In the Countryside.

The desires of man creak past on the rickety carriage of time, while I cross the street.

I know it barrels toward the city, but I like mud, and hay under my shoes, not coal beneath my feet,

So I just watched that carriage drift off 'til it was too far for me to reach.

When they packed up the cargo, they included lust, and next to her power sat.

Fame near the front, and wealth near the back.

But, as the shackles were being distributed, no one noticed one package slip away.

For freedom doesn’t like handcuffs, nor do I like to be contained.

In this land I’ll sit alone and do all that I can,

But it turns out my sins are boring, without those of my friends.