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Mortimer Sly
Sky scraping man, stone weather hands
Walking on highways made out of sand
Heavy in stepping, lilting in tow
Decisive in battery of where next to go
Feeling so shy and wary of Mary
Such burdens of grit, such sorrows to carry
A man of scars forever is hurting
Determined to run but always returning
He lives to his name by getting away
And does himself shame by trying to pray
Falls to his knees to speak to the sky
Feels dry in the mouth and blind in the eyes
Storms in the air, clouds would be blessing
And nothing but thunder will come to his catching
Listless clapping, distant roars
A child's hands and nothing more
Motherless Mortimer, not much to lose
Picks up his pace as panic ensues
He runs from mirages, present or benign
With hope to leave, or transcend, or die
Mortimer Sly, such a threatening look
Stealing into sunset like such petty crooks
With knowledge of better, all but forgotten
Regrets of the former, near but down trodden
Mortimer Sly, flee from your others
Those you have hurt, those you smothered
Live through the holes on the soles of your shoes
And know that by now, you've none left to lose.
