TMB

Do I really want to conform?
To the on-goings of the norm?
Maybe I do, maybe I don’t,
But one thing remains, I do it alone.
In this plane of existence, lives a man with questions that never cease.
Where to begin? How to end? Repeated answers to reminisce,
Why the Sun’s Son’s light has gone amiss beneath the britches of a Miss.
A Miss never missed but missed to miss the abyss.
Maybe I should conform,
To the on-goings of the norm.
Maybe I’ll do, maybe I won’t,
But one thing remains, I’d do it alone.
In another plane of existence, lives a man with decisions that never cease.
This looks better. No, this is best. Decisions that never seem to appease,
The Sun’s Son’s light that went amiss beneath the britches of that Miss,
That Miss that missed being missed midst the abyss.
I have conformed,
To the on-goings of the norm.
Maybe I shouldn’t have,
But one thing remains, I did it alone.
In the last plane of existence, lived a man with uncertainness that instantly ceased,
This is done. What is next? Uncertainties that never increased,
For the Sun’s Son’s light was not found amiss in the britches of the missed,
The missed Miss that missed the missed in the Abyss of the Missed.
Three men, two live, one dead.
Oh! How it begins; one thinks, one wants, one found.
The finder finds fulfilment, contentment in death.
The wanter wants wantless fulfilment, contentment in life.
The thinker thinks thorough fulfilment, contentment is neither in death,
The thinker thinks true fulfilment, contention nor in life.
The Sun’s Son laughs. For His light found its rest; amiss it never was, in the britches of the Miss never missed but missed to miss the abyss. That missed Miss that missed being midst the abyss missing the missed in the Abyss of the Missed.