Between the thorns of each day

Between the thorns of each day
The mouse-scared minutes I kneel my body to rest
Sleeping on my toes
Waking with every windblow
I hold an educated face
One that plunders smiles
And wears the plastic ones instead

And with this shiny smile
Bottled with the colour of gloom
The roped up man
Pretty in his robed up self
Lays his footprints and handshakes around
Non-oblivious to the big, cold wind
Eagerly waiting to serve another one to the world
On the 'ol sooted platter

And so, the prison-waiting begins
The fast and fragile clock hands throw time
While my head repeats the honest words
I welled up myself

Between the thorns of each passing day
I push through the iron
Still keeping my brain
Raging for the light to drop on me
Waiting still for the perfect word
Hidden behind the very tips of my fingers
Telling me my sun will still be shining