On The Pier

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Entah

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On the pier
There's a painter
Perched upon a stool, peering into the Pacific's peace
Seems to stretch out forever
Re-painting a picture, depicting a person he'd once perceived
Proceeding his paint and packs of pencils, while he
Was working with passion
And passing high-street shoppers paid him
Portrait orientation
Is his easel, a notepad, cover depicting procrastination
Oh Yeah!
Crumpled up receipt taken
Pages providing purpose, for a punk playing peacefully
Pissing off pretentious pensioner sourpuss', picking on him penalty
Perpetually repeating the process
Mobius strip wrapping around this point in the timeline's mess
Loathing being picked out for portraying a kid, lost
A prick, who happens to low-key love the chaos
When of a bunch, he's among the least imperfect picks
Being a sheep 's only way he knows how to get his kicks
Poorly portraying a prankster
When caught, to pass-by, he'll happily apologize, even pander
More so the prior, but to get let off, may possibly have to stoop to the latter too
Then the temporal nexus loops

Poor boy out on his own
Doesn't know where he can go
So he's forced to wander and roam
Anything to avoid going
Home

Existential episode feeling
As if it's eternally repeating
Today will he be running from a shouting or a beating
Exhausted everyday, same scene, slight variation on the ending
Reinterpretation, of the situation
Like the new fifty-two
A shitty reboot
But instead, taking the ending
Of the non comic event, and then going and rearranging it's dictation
Outlook can't help but be cynical
Poor boy stuck aiming for digital
Struggling to achieve it with bare bones analogue
Making attempts at ending that chapter of the epilogue
By, no means, will simply
Be, the manner in which it is solved
Each of his plans succeeding to a varying degree
Till his mindset had the chance to evolve
Before indefinitely closed, can the door of opportunity revolve
Builds himself up, then they burn him down
Or he stumbles over, a canister in a park, beside town
RSI all over and within, but he pushes on through
Picked up a paintbrush to heal, from learning things, wish he didn't know

Poor boy out on his own
Still not quite sure where he can go
Least now his mind has an outlet tho
One day, he may, find a place to call
Home

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