Year of the Rat
Russ Rankin
The sense of fear on which you feed
When the people canæ?° believe
The things they read
Weæ?³e been brought up to feel left out
Eclipsed by the shadows of our doubt
The pieces rise and rearrange
And all the smiling faces seem so strange
With tacit symmetry and prose
I feel the doors behind me close
Youæ?®e here alone inside this crowd
Youæ?³e faced the world and made us proud
But when the bitterness returns
Thereæ?¯ nothing left to hide the burns
Iæ?³e waited
Iæ?³e written on promises and dreams
A thousand times
Still relegated to these lines
Like water untainted the sad.
Quixotic trail Iæ?³e left behind
Somehow it echoes in my mind
And it almost feels like coming home