I am tired of the beginning.
I am tired of the ending.
I stand in the middle,
I declare,
WIN!!
Exhaustion from running,
sets my internal clock.
As a member of life,
I will not plot.
The big hand is on my neck.
The little hand is my desire.
The second hand becomes the fire,
to wind the minds of liars.
Ticking down to what is zero,
becomes the blotted out lives,
of those that will not lie,
counting until they die.
Threats deliver the unstable,
reminding you of their label.
Insanity will not show me your innocence,
for it is an excuse,
use it no more.
You are as vigilant as I.
There is no compromise to buy.
Turn to any guy and ask,
"Are you for sale?"
"Yes" or "No" will prevail.
Sooner or later,
I will sail,
into the sunset to no avail.
The clock will strike,
the Eleventh hour.
It has arrived.
Time to testify to all your lies.
The Begin
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