Flies

They say that time flies; that’s no surprise; I’ve seen it fly before my eyes

And sometimes I feel I’m the only one who tries to remember

All the flies trapped in amber, for you see, I am

Surprised that after all these years, all these lies, all these tears,

That any words can still strike the hammers in my ears

And I drop like a fly.

And then, I wonder why.

I know there are no flies on me; that’s a fact that any fly could see

A fact that, in most ways, makes me free to be 

Whatever it is I need to be

It’s a luxury I’m glad to afford; a perfect score across the board

A receipt for some undefined reward granted to me by the Lord

Of Flies, who watches me from behind my eyes; he lives there, wearing a disguise

For he knows how much he is abhorred.

And I just think it’s kind of funny, how I traded vinegar for honey

And all I caught were the creatures that I’m not

The creatures with me in a similar spot.

My my, why, maybe I am a fly.

And here’s the funny thing about flies:

We might not be strong, we might not belong,

And not one of us will be here for long

And yet there’s something we do that others do not

When wickedness dies, we cheer as it rots

And from its death, we are born, after it is gone

Free to fly like the flies that time has forgot.