Nut Job

You might find me at the back in my mind dream meddling

Lined with attire of a middle earth gremlin

Bane of my life I'm sane on the wrong tracks

Lacking an excuse for why I ain't come back

Dark age brought mic rage light gaze set upon a tight a phrase

Throw it out not for the prize gained

More to cure the hazed migraine

My craft buys grain I can't complain

Slight gains in the way I aim in vein attempts to rid the pain in my head

From the bullet train thoughts shooting round remaining instead

Of opinions left me feeling quite dead

Over thinking everything down to the drum stick that I feel I'm miss handling