When kittens yawn, do cyclists cross the street?
In my mind, the answer is unknowingly strong
And thereabouts lies the proverbial fruit of his eye
He left strangers to move on but
They never left him, so now he is cursed in a nutshell and
Longing for a peaceful life, somehow, to make due like
The carpet on the hotel floor where he sleeps, dies, and lives in turn