We like to wonder about what is to come Because the unknown is thrilling And the known is nothing but Stale coffee and broken staplers Every corner of my life has a dent in it Or a pothole or a mud stain or A dragon behind the door With great fangs and the back arched Waiting for things that haven't happened yet Worrying about things that might not happen And all these things are illusions Delusions Confusions They're a different sort of suffering Wondering what is to come Is a self injected needle filled with Blood from a dying pheasant As the bird wonders if it should Stray to the wolf's jaw or just wonder How it would be like to be brave (Or an idiot, you choose) Like a horse with blinders on And a flamethrower for a tail I speed towards uncertainty The hooves chaffed and the wings scorched And the rider gone astray Talking about the future Only my demise is certain And the rest is a brew Of good days and better days Days where I'm a ...