Boring,
boring, I may say.
What's the purpose of
my heart.
What would lead
you to my gate.
My arms for hugging your
shoulders
But someday hold myself.
I stand here, with their green
eyes.
People cajole me out
of the gain,
"You ought to be there, for
this place!"
But colorless,
joyless, I may say.
Who hates here? then
Who likes me
more?
My arms gotta be
ready for the next.
And I will haul you
like the magnets.
I'm here to author
winds.
I'm here to author
torch.
And I will be there
to capture you.
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