Less than one of me is more than half of you
When I reach this point traveling within the distance of green and blue
What is our formula?
Who are we to count the ways of which the day churns
Some lowly peasant with rice grains fallin
From under the sun a-beatin
Sweat beads flying like a dancer to the dust ground--
Can still see the hours of the day stretch and count the minutes of the harvest
While I
The textbook educated, paper wasting, diploma certified by only ink
Stuck to a page of fake gold paint
Sit like a child,
In a box
Make assumptions
Peering wide eyed at a dimension I cannot truly see.