Quarters on my bedroom floor, papers crowd my desk
Pacing like a captured cat through the cluttered mess
Quarter passed three AM, stars are growing dim
Can't tell if its the dawn or just light pollution
Don't let me let you down again
Quarter of my life is gone, I'm in my corporal prime
Stolen from my mothers arm and borrowed for the night
Clawing for a reason why I have all I possess
And what is to become of me when nothing else is left
(And second was a morning and every morning was a question
And ever question has an answer and ever answer has some context
But all the context is subjective and every subject needs a kingdom
And every kingdom needs an era and this one's slipping by each second)
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