Faced with mounting circumstance and pausing in passing
Looking across distances and trying to convey
Desolate surrounding of your own invention
With cold point bland refusal to just dissipate
Searching for a glimpse of heaven
Thinking of the bonds you'll sever
With steadfast aim you'll try to convey
You will pray for absolution while you're thinking of nothing
And take it for granted that you're already placed
Grim determination of transparent texture
Pulling down the blinds for convenience's sake
Spit in the wind in a nonchalant fashion
Gamble the odds on suicidal stakes
Days drag on in indecision
Clear cut with each incision
Casual slashes now and gradual falling from grace
You'll forget about ascension when your face hits the dirt
You take it for granted that there's been a mistake
-Martyn Bates
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