Back to work.
Back to school.
Back to dealing with the hurt.
The wound is closing, but the soul is still cut-open.
Back to the studies.
Back to the network.
Back to the grid.
Enslaved by the number, and there’s no where to hide.
Hidden, no, concealed, no, out-in-the-open, waiting, waiting, and waiting.
When will my time come. When will it be that I can see the other side.
Back to the grind, a slave to the system, a pawn to the board, a private at the bottom of the barrel.
Back to the force that strikes me each day in my ear, through my eyes, and in my blood.
I’m back to the grind where I am not free, but trapped.
Please Lord set me Free.
Please Lord let me be.
Please Lord take me away to paradise.
Here I am.
I’m back to the grind.