a small feather, floats through the air with everlasting precision. it lands in a town, making a small incision and gathering enough emotion to bear. my life is a series of letdowns, one after another drops add to pounds. kings and queens, they’re all the same. city folk and farmer kind, all play the same game. they call it life, i call it shame. they catch the criminal, while really its a frame. simply put, we’re all underground sometime. as the secondhand strikes, we have to talk in mime, at the next we’re covered in grime. i hate the feeling of falling, cityscapes rush below, but I’m still moving nowhere. an emotion we share.