Pisaries Creator

Unlock the gate and let me in.

From whom shall I catch a glimpse in between the metal rods?

I don’t recognize that person. He doesn’t look familiar.

It seems he’s lost the way and doesn’t care.

I know I certainly have, on the outside, where I reside.

There’s a few dollars in my pocket.

Yesterday, there was only one.

I was too busy counting my pennies when the door closed.

Keep praying. Down on your knees. Keep hoping.

Respect the journey, the way it is, the way it is going.

This is what everyone tells.

It feels hopeless. I don’t want to keep the faith.

I don’t want to play this game anymore.

All that is left is trying harder, somehow, prying the gate open.

Knowing it will be closed for another year.