Old story new feet

Walking in the new land in old footprints in old footprints
alone

or

together
it's all the same

and step in the holes that come at regular intervals
and never see the footprints

they are so old that they're part of the scenery now

Step in down to the shin, bruise yourself on the way out
Trip on an old metaphor and bleed under the skin

always tripping and wandering
sometimes
in a forwardly direction
sometimes
not



You always come back
They always do

because


because you have nowhere else to go and the way back is dark

the way forwards is dark
but you don't know where it ends



follow those holes and get an ending or bust
you haven't got anywhere else to go

on this worn out path

this escalator of the gods

at the top of the metaphor is a reason, where everyone is shiny and you have lovely teeth