Silly Common Meter

When you've measured out your poor, poor life

and distributed the blame

You'll find you've held the only knife;

you'll find yourself the same

And so you'll loose your poor torqued breath

and part a space of rain

And rest between your birth and death

with neither joy nor pain.

The sky itself will melt away

and fill a mirrored lake.

and you will finally learn to stay

and admit no mistake

That you are a lithe and free thing

with just your heart to break

while you can't tell when you're sleeping
you know when you're awake