Slackening The Bite At The Hour

So weary of shiftless life,
A wanderlust that precedes my intuition
And a mark of ash left dripping in the rain,
Not much else is left,and I've looked around...

The best staring contest through dusty shades,
Pours forth and I begin to recall,
With the sort of certainty that scares me sightless,
The fear, the most real of any sort...

Banging loud on your grinding wheels,
Chattering about new ways to go under,
I'd be recklessly lost with a map and compass
But I'd always know where to find you...

Most midnights,
In the head always,
Always where I make my money,
Truly invading my home....