Its not so open to interpretation, the things I choose to write about
So I write with trepidation, and struggling with doubt
Did my words retain the spirit or get lost inside the letter
Was I suppose to say this or could I explain it better
More comfortable with prose, I don unfamiliar clothes
Because introspection is the way I chose
I chase the author, and suspect to find Him soon
Is that His shadow there, standing in the ruins
It was fine the way it was, so what's left for me to share
So I choose my words more carefully, the ones I even dare
But there is something in the telling that is chipping at my heart
And oh my God, You're everywhere, You've been there from the start
Calvin "Cheese Grits" Yerke
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