They march like ants heading to a log,but I do not want to sit on a log,and those hardworking ant legs shouldn’t resemble my thoughts.The marching song is stuck somewhereinside this operating brain of mine,the ants go marching one by one,hurrah, hurrah.Hurrah, hurrah, the thumbs are gone,as no one is watching me work hard,to witness

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Look up high and see the clouds in the vast sky. Lean your head back to catch as many rays. You will be better off with a little bit of color than none. Your race will thank you for it later. You try to forget those reminders from long ago. How slippery they are in

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