Wander Fog

My mind is made up.

Countless spinnin’ wheels and I can’t rest this soul
in break, day or afternoon.

Sorry, a regardless action, maybe,
a problem with the automobile, snatched grasses
and glasses, traffic, sun glasses and no sun
at all.

My mind is made up, right
away, go on.

And something’s bothering
all those vibrations, directions and hope on finding
nowhere to go. Now,  that’s something brilliant, you know.

Unbearable sight and not so tight between us all.
I mean, regardless myself of us all.

Clean up the house, just like they told,
straight away, all human mess around
it complete risen sun, and I’ll wont write it down. Those letters
with no name on it, those shells with no strain on it.

Those unbearable tasks and unfinished love,
it matters, I guess. Maybe for anyone so serious,
Real one, not just publicly serious like me, you know. It matters

in a certain way
I made it up. Is this correct?


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