Scott Raikes

Thru times of hope, loss and dreams, our futile plight against the stream. The heavens rattle the hopes of man, then sifts away his future plans. So we pen away our childish needs until it's our own destiny, and throw it into the wind to see it fall time again.and in the end the memories fade, lost to fate but time remains.
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Six pounds to freedom, a tale long sense told. The tormented overzealous mind of man, just 6 pounds to end the pain. Allways right to the edge, self preservation will not permit me to cross. I need help to walk through that threshold, I alter my mind but I still cannot pass. Maybe God himself prevents me, maybe this is a dream. But I wake time and time again only to see the edge like a feverish nightmare. Maybe tomorrow
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My pillow saturated with nightmares, the sheets drip with regret. Always in the past as the future fly's bye, wake now and unshackle from this. Lift up your soul to the beauty of life, climb high to the boundaries of mortals and touch the hand of the god.
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