No knight in shining armor on a white-steed But rather an aging farmer on an old plow-horse; No guardian angel looking over your shoulder But rather the Grim Reaper with his scythe; No communication with follow-up & follow-through But rather smoke-signals blown away by the wind; No Lady Justice with The Sword of Justice But rather she's carrying a rusty scabbard now; No ocean water to wash across my face & brow But rather hypodermic needles to stick into my skin; No road to success, no road to recovery But rather all there is, is a maze - can't unwind; No clean air to breathe, unbreathable at best But rather pollution wearing a death face mask; No hope on the horizon, values lay dying But rather vanished signs to which upon the vulture sits. No longer looking for something good to find But can no longer conquer - only wait to die. '2008' RLS