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My eyes count the striped white lines In the middle of the street. I speed and the lines zoom by faster. Making my eyes shake Back And Forth. Unable to count anymore, They become a solid line.
Good and bad. Where is the line drawn. What differentiates the good from the bad. We all sin, make mistakes, and chose the wrong paths Yet we are still good. What crosses the line to make us bad?
As we drift west 'neath cotton wisps and buttes, Cerulean and pearly white combine To mock at spinach-green and call it mute, And point it to the highway's yellow line.
People keep trying to mold me into a star Or a square Or whatever it is they want me to be It doesn’t matter I’ll keep being me And even if all I am is a straight line, That’s just fine.
Those who see the world
Though the walls crumble around us Though our time may be but short Though a thousand more surround us And grim grows the report Will you choose to stay here? The choice is as you please