Stirring nothing new but an old brew.
Finding portions to key ingredients,
To create something to have some kind of
Allegiance.
At the end of the day,
I tend to have to start all over again.
Finding nothing except a part to an
Old end.
I'm a witch, waiting for that special
Rendezvous.
But here I am, stirring this same old brew
Like a fool.
At the end of the day,
All I am is a witch wanting to find
A potion to bring back youth again.
But the ingredients were never found,
The potion never brewed abound.
So there I go, flying through the night
Back to lonely rooms lacking longing abundance,
And you realize, youth can never come twice.
October 3, 2011
