Q.4

28 seasons of summer, all 28 reasons to plunder this life I lead until I strike out, no remorseful wonders.. 28 streets of thunder, all paved over with stories like gun hurts.. Shot at, spat on, talked behind this back, gawked on, plot back, walk a thin line sellin dreams of a relapse.. The one and only soul still searching, not perceived or looked, aught there be more to looks and a brain settled in books.. To be in disdain, all pain seeping in vain, just to be another human labeled a crook.. Tell me, am I wrong to right a wrong not once but twice, dancing on the edge when I made a pledge, dodge bullets I took.. Now its 10 seasons of autumn, when time falls, catch up winter, dead of the night when I Might Put A Life Away.. In a box where Pawns to Kings and Queens, they all play for one thing, and that's to sleep well at ends sight.. The silent truth hurts..