All the girls running past me giggling, in their cute little skirts ribbons in their hair... bubbling with youth I stand like a retard just looking unable to even reach out, to try taking what is right before me Rather I have windmills to fight but it's no heroic path consequence of idealism Rather the tired old rut of years fighting a war that could never be won Rather the resignation of the hamster running, running, getting nowhere but unable to stop The path cannot be thought out there is no logic and no reason and all of life rushes by before my vacant stare and I just miss out 04-VI-08