Farting

Farting on a Sunday is somehow unsociable

Life is like one long funeral message
Time is counting my years
Without a doubt, we the old guard are becoming few

I have scribbled about nothing else
Clearly playing on my mind
I need a strong will
The will to perform, drive doubt out the door

I have explored, means to an end
Bleated on about back to basics
Tried leading from the front
But I am full circle, feel uninspired

Now is my hour, perform I must
Take tight a grip on my self
Jump the driver seat
Become one dimensional