Shining light in front of my weary eyes
Does give great pretence to the glow of life

Where is the cloud that is blued in disguise
Which is inevitable to my strife

Towers of oaken wood do grow outside
Shaking off winter's bitter kiss and I
See a possibly rabid chipmunk stride
Far up the trunk, which extends to the sky

Clothing scattered about a filthy room
In which a scruffy cat runs all around
Bears the evidence of long hours soon
Forgotten in the times which play the sound
of a coming voyage no longer to
Live in a world which suffers me through