Some moments are holy like the Klondike,
missed my chance but still gotta fight,
need to fight but oh man I'm scared,
terrified that life is happening and my
dreams might not manifest themselves
into specific realities, but oh well.

Just as soon as you think you're done,
some big ole mess falls into your lap.
Or you, the mess, falls into chance.
Either way, gravity's the culprit.

It's November the fourth, my reasons
be changing like the seasons, Guy
Fawkes charged with treason, god
oversoul whatever it's called a liaison
between Ken Kesey and mastodons,
hear me saying that the fight is on,
this battle of self and selfless, worth
and worthless, love and loveless.