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Pen and Paper
It is not mine, this language and it leaves me with nothing but my own.
My own pen and paper,
The tools of revolutionaries.
Pen to the paper, sword drawn , I leap to dance and sing on this paper.
But no revolution is my own, I have no cause.
I am a wanderer, lost, but where else better to go than my pen and paper?
Pen and paper it is a fork in the road,
The one revolutionaries take leads to being found,
The wanderers take the one that loops back to the fork.
Lost and forever lost, until we have a cause to be found.
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