i
ineptitude's favorite song is solace,
a constant ringing in my ear
the faceless horsemen pull the reins,
i think they heard the song too
ii
you are a river, soft and calm
i, myself, felt a pig despite my alms
given for grace to a tireless waif
oh, sweet river! what id give
to wash my face again in your waters
its the fake sense of understanding
and the fake caresses that you foster
iii
but the waif is gnawing at my toes
and she the river, she no longer flows
and solace, the trumpet, it no longer blows
and the path ahead, it no longer glows
and the horsemen, lost, they no longer know
just which way their horse will go
in search of solace,
understanding,
a sweet caress,
a mythological place of cryptics
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