There's a change in every rise,
A sense of self in the morning eyes.
A book that I hide in my heart,
And to read it out with your art.
I hold faith in your skepticism
The cues of answer in the air.
In waves I put myself to thought,
The metaphor I couldn't think of.
And varying mark at the fore of me
As I trod to fetch it ceases oh.
And I don't know this absurdity,
You tell me you are here,
But you run when I'm about to near.