As I slouch upon my chair, And into the space before me I stare As if what before me was not there I slowly pass the night.
Slowly from my reverie, Something outside I see Its nothing that bothers me, But a stray dog is the sight. And but a play is the life we had, As if actors say the words we've said, And we are, in some strange way, The audience, looking back at our lives here today... Then reality strikes reflections broken... And of my thoughts nothing is spoken, But later, as at my desk I write
Of my thoughts, as I do tonight.