Sitting on a fence of razor wire,
Fearing the fall and eyeing the spire.
Got drugs that nail the male,
Keeping the sky a pasty pale.
Medicine men count the cuts and brands
With their odd arithmetic and scans.
Scripted chants becoming scatters,
Antiseptic caveats of a life in tatters.
Lift off easy from that chancy fence,
Leaving behind bloody recompense.
Stuck between the day and night,
Tangled so there is no flight.
The perch between what was and is
Lights the darkness of despair,
Casting shadows in a hopeful flair.
If could be undone what's done,
Would a grassy plain be won?
Would the thorny fence change,
Or would the hurdle be another range?