As the sun sighs and slowly disappears, Smoke swirls and heavy smell of the weed, Recollecting a thousand lies and fate of time, To be forgotten with finished glasses of wine. Often, marred by the roads less traveled, Always, d iseased by fortunes misconstrued, He lives a life that doesn't exist, not even real, And drifts in silence, in a world so cold and lost. Confused over why he travelled all way till here, Whether to draw a smile or maybe drops of tear, Mistakes he has made plenty, including loving you, However hard he tries, forgiveness is always on due. Blurred ahead, but cleaner mark of where he had been, Fear runs down the spine, if he thinks of going back again, But he is not dead yet and he is not in the ground, Just a lost traveler, a lost traveler down that lost highway. .........counting the days but never to be found again! .........counting the days but never to be found again!! .........counting the days but never to be
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