So the waves move.
We all find our groove.
Some with the silver spoon.
Looking wayward at noon.
Crying baby all in tears.
No milk from MOMS fears.
Love rides the tides of life.
Full of turmoil and wicked strife.
Drunk bar stool tells its story.
Empty words of its glory.
Cry onward plastic fallen.
Calls of the empty stalls.