Frantic Antics

These incessant internal monologues are scratching again;
broken down records like the song I cant get out of my head
There is no time to press pause; inefficiency equals sin
Idleness is an idol I wont even love when I'm dead

What if blank spaces in thoughts aren't bounded by limits of space
but instead infused with wavelengths that our eyes cant comprehend
Would you waste your precious days toiling in haste through worldly haze?
These cloudy mirrors are only replaced when eye lines ascend

When we stare at our shoes they walk in the direction of pain,
bumping into the lamp post; not seeing the path it's showing
But by choosing the head-height view your eyes meet others' again
Look at the tramp walking past 'cos he's just been where you're going


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