Just a waste of space.
This thing has no use.
That thing could be anyone,
just a couple of shoes.
Such a lazy thing.
Cannot find it’s groove.
Anyone could tie that lace.
What happens when they move?
Fill ‘em, they’ve carried all this weight.
Grown older, feet feel it on the shoulders.
Walking, it’s too heavy, the wait.
Guess these were born to be movin’.
Walk on something else.
Heart ho-hums, and mind’s a little louder without her.
Suppose shoes were made for movin’.
Circles throw out time.
Never seem to leave.
Same problem, back around,
simply makes a mind grieve.
Brilliant little brain.
Come out of the dark.
No one’s out to get you.
This thing needs your smarts.
Shoes getting older.
Head to toe, the weight, plus what’s on shoulders.
Sometimes waiting gets too heavy for a head.
Shoes, worn soles, they keep on walking
through the nice and the cold days.
this is your life chuck johnson 