don't be rude

hiding inside a bunker in the heat
i remembered a girl i formally wanted to meet
but she was long gone
before the Asian dawn
found me rubbing my tired eyes
and another piece of the puzzle tries
to fit:
there's never a good time to quit.
yesterday, i was a baby in the sand
with my scoop shovel and a small tin can
holding the tide at bay
listening to you say
son, come here, if it's really you,
what do you want to do?
well, castles always fall apart,
pulling strings from my heart
after the false promises and worldly schemes
i'm holding smoke and dreams
while on the professional wrestling mat
a neutral referee came and sat
but he wouldn't hold my hand over my head:
what was it i once heard said?
look up for an answer or down
so, up or down?
there's a ticket on the ground
making a buzzing sound,
but it can't be touched or buried;
don't be hassled or hurried
on your way to the pig pen
where all the big little men
wallow and snort and cavort with themselves
filling those many empty shelves
with blood and broken glass,
discarded pieces of wholesome ass:
there's enough to complete my book
but after counting everything i took,
a balance is due and my wallet lacks.
finding me requires finding my tracks:
in the tall grass where the scurrying ants find their food,
i'll share mine but please don't be rude.