I lye down in unmade sheets
sometimes I wonder sometimes I sleep
many a time I may weep
awake is a form I may never relish in
caught in between judgment and sin
I long for things others may simply win
the public is a long shot for a brain on fire
my constant pain to be distant is dire
away up and up I am a flier
Off the sun I may be fed
much like an unraveling thread
though sometimes I make my bed
