Marching

What if you discovered all your thinking didn’t matter?
Would that shatter too much or would that be a relief?
What if you did not need to believe?
I’d love to hear you then, my friend,
the things you never say again,
the words you’re spinning in the wind
they’re all tied to soldiers marching.

What if you decided to reveal all that you’re hiding
like Lady Godiva riding naked through the town?
What if they beat you down?
So you say you love, my friend,
like it won’t be said again.
As if all the walls aren’t creeping in
and all the Toms aren’t peeping.