Out of the hive mind,
Onto the perilous road
To the unknown self.
Stuffing time into my pockets,
As if there were no tomorrows.
I stand as the trusted shapeshifter
That tricks the tall woman
Embued with visceral powers,
Of the octarine discworld.
Wouldn’t you happen to be around?
I could use some mind’s machinery
I need to come close to the world again,
Calling life back from death.
The works of a thief are never done.