Robert

He seeks explosive release, in what he cannot find, nothing seems to please, he won't hear good news, love is just a grind, a cover-up for truth, with the kiss of blasphemy, he doesn't do sublime, or give anyone a treat, why disguise the Blues, or nourish his sweet mind, no one’s there for you, he shakes his keys, when December chimes, work’s no Odyssey, chained to a loving need, for his family’s crimes, he'd rather bleed, forget any sense of ease, of justice place or time, the path to any freedom, another clock to wind.