The blue eyed son

I want to run away, (she said)

From the idea of 'we'

From everything

From you and me...

 This existence 

Or lack of it

This endless tumult

The burden of wish

This rowing and rowing

to a nether shore

I somehow end up 

back to before

I want to run away, 

From you and me

Yes, sweetheart, 

You are nothing but true

But we have to row

on seismic waves, 

Together perhaps,

separated may be.

Sometimes we surf

Sometimes we sink

But row we must

Row to be free

Those who run

must run to survive

But as with the sheep

or deer or fish,

For those who run

there must be a herd

a flock; my dear

we chose to miss

So we have to be

In the melee

Making the wagers

losing to win

Painting our faces

Chanting the rhymes

Muting our voices

playing their mimes.

Bowing our heads

to absurd adage

We must embrace

this camouflage

But we have to be

In the melee

Together perhaps,

separated may be

But row we must

Row to be free

But row we must

Row to be free