Am I a woman raised, man-machine, damaging everything I touch? By not caring enough? Or too much? Am I far flung fantasy, setting free enmity? And making friends from enemies, and bridges for the in-betweens. For the highwayman on the low road, the tired back with a large load. The trials spanned till I found hope, and I found more when I slo-mo'ed. Enough of the back to face front. Let those in the pack of the race run, I'm needing an evener pace one, too hasty makes mistakes. Can you, carry a song, as strong as your arms can bear? That you keep from harm? And it, will be there when you go wrong. Make a heart from your bond, your treasure's right here.
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