When you're down and they're counting,
When your secrets are all found out,
When your troubles take to mounting,
When the map you have leads you to doubt.
When there's no information,
And the compass turns to no where you know well-
When the doctors failed to heal you,
When no medicine chest can make you well,
When no counsel leads to comfort,
When there are no more lies they can tell,
No more useless information,
And the compass spins-
The compass spins between heaven and hell,
Let your soul be your pilot.
So Gorden Sumner, I thank you for your existence and the opportunity you provide for me to appreciate such lyrical poetry.
Blog, I notice how I constantly run so pathetically to you when there is nobody else for me. I will resume normal posting/lifestyle appropriate to societal norms soon.