Sometimes in circles,
Sometimes head on;
Maybe with purpose,
Through all the ruckus -
Not stopping night or morn
To cry, care or cuss
Just pushing it all down
Through a dark hole coerse.
But a day might dawn
When you crave to change course,
Or feel too tired to carry on -
Left behind without the force.
And on the day you are this worn,
As the tears down your cheek pours
These questions haunt, from which you cannot run -
Who is it, that understands your own code of Morse?
Who is it, you fall back on and turn?
Who is it, your strength and inspiration's source?
Who is it, for whom you yearn?
Who is it who is the one, your one and only one?