Some lyrics of mine

The Method Knitting Machine

The method knitting machine,

speaks truth, as I define.

Truth, a sickly child,

whence blows the wind so wild?

"Tell me quickly then,

and I'll be glad."

Winds blow, it's not so bad,

lies are short and small.

Whose legs are mine, you see?

Does the wind speak, wild and free?

Truth, the morning light,

sorrow, worries tight.

Rich spoils today they seize,

windy are the times, with ease.

Modest, I stay quiet and unseen,

sun-clear, and pure, and clean.

Cynical, unfree, and bound,

winds pass by, without a sound.

Pleasure's hours have passed away,

tomorrow the sun will shine again, they say.

But now in darkest night,

no one forgives me, what a plight!

Ill humor and complaints I make,

judgement on my despair they take.

Winds rustle soft and low,

courageous is the way to go.

People stand upright and tall,

windless, quiet, it's a stall.

Twenty years have passed, it's true,

I speak this poem, old and new.

Wind does not caress,

all breaks into a mess.

Pleasure I cannot find,

wind, be free, unbound!

Unleash your mighty force,

take a walk, on a different course.

"Speak this and that, oh speak!"

Is everything clear to you, unique?

Miserable, frightened, I stand,

worries and the wind at hand.

Field prepared, the world, you see,

who chooses this urgency?

Winds blow fast, and then,

at the end, the sound again.

Song arises, and takes flight,

troubles the master not, day or night.

Fart blown away in the wind's endeavor,

blows go through me, forever and ever.

What it does to me,

after midnight, you see!

Right, I say now,

"Good night," and sleep somehow.