The fevered glances ‘round the room, the walls adorned with eyes
Eyes that stare unflinchingly, projected from inside
Twisting turns of colds and burns, unchosen circumstance
The pins and needles in the air will beg attention's chance

No event that happens is intrinsically unjust
But fear is found that this psyche may have become too much
Schizoidal nerves are too aware and urges spread too thin
Difficulty conjuring security within
It’s all in how the look is looked, but looking’s looked at too
This metaspective metashit is ruining the stew

Now to find the pattern that will do my being kind
To meditate the agitation out from core to rind
To allow this suffocating dust to catch the winds of time
To allow the dance that twirls and shakes, the jig that will remind