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Walking together,
we were: hand-in-hand.
In-hand-in-hand.
They don't make us
like they did once,
people like us
live,
just a little heavier.

We see trees a tad greener,
but the leaves will stay dead,
well into Summer
where dying comes close again.
They don't change much,
to people like us.
Who tend to see life
right before the end.

Hand-in-hand:
they don't. . . care.
People like them,
people like us.
We like to give up,
right before the easy part
where the tension is gone.
The belts are loose,
and we find a loop-hole out,
because success scares them too much.
That's how it is for people like. . .us.

They scare me
with their care free
dead-end life philosophy
and humor in glorified hypocrisy.
Bunch of nihilists spouting Frankfurt-school and poetry,
that they know nothing of. . .
just to undermine thousand year old societies.
And to what degree goes their wretched irony?
Or what degree do they hold to speak of things?
Or what degree is the angle of their backs
as they inhale what they call "inspiring"?

I broke away,
from the people like. . .us.
I no longer fit the mold.
For hand-in-hand,
in-hand-in-hand
can no longer work
with the way I now walk