And something in between.
I guess you could say a small sail,
This way beneath the highlands,
But it’s never the end upon great merits.
Yet the steps in snow hold value besides me,
And the weight of the wind presses on thee,
But the things still stand between reverence.
It’s to be seen in a similar light,
That which makes one free,
And another fight.
The way cracks form,
And the way others propagate,
Mean little in the eye of the cavalry.
But I still don’t feel right,
And the words don’t hold the same value as they used to,
I guess my tongue is twisted now.