My little ball of clay
I take it everywhere I go
The shape can change. The substance is the same
No matter what I do
It somehow always knows
Chameleon-like, it adapts to the game.
There was a time before
When all I wanted was to show
My clay ball in its most familiar state
But no matter what I tried
I always gave in to the flow
So no one else has seen the cleanest slate.
No comments:
Post a Comment