Tuesday, May 11, 2010

The Beating

I hit the door
I hit the floor
Sometimes I want to quit
But if I quit, then who knows?
Tomorrow might not exist
I insist on the pressure
Where the lesson isn't learned 'til you practice to failure
Fruits of my labor
Keep my head above water, no time to barter
Or bargain, this world takes no prisoners
No cries out for help, for there are no listeners
I'm trying to make it out alive
I'm sustained by the teachings that others provide
Hands worked to the bone, my legs much similar
Have I been here before, there is much similar
To the losses I've felt
But I built more now from the damage I've dealt

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