Pendant Reclusive

The more time alone I spend apart From the vulgar traffic of the earth It is the more wisdom fill my heart And the more I come closer to birth Through each metamorphosis of thought For all my life there was this pressure This culture of what should be despite Of what I was born to be. This erasure Of something substantial for a blight, A poor fly struggling that sinister caught And no emotional intelligence that web Could escape, for how is a fly not to chase The scent of things rotting when no ebb Of hunger is present its desire to erase? It was easier not to fall in love, let it depart There is so much distraction before the truth And so much pain after it is known. I see Every fair thing a little bit of a coward brute But is more meaningful because of misery. I sing better with words from a broken heart.