I find that I'm a rebel. Even when I conform.
I'm struggling to assert an image
that even I might not believe.
I find you satisfying and a trouble to my mind.
But a journey that I willingly take
on an ever ebbing breeze.
Lingering between two blinking traffic lights,
we find answers in each other.
If we find any answers at all.
And when we touch without ever feeling
I hear myself exhale. For then trouble
is name of the company we call.
But a part is bound to discovering
a softer side of you and me. A peeling and
decaying of a rationalized lust.
So we start again with history that pacifies
greater need. Without confusion we're bound
to unwrap a clearer version of us.
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