I count these marks across my head
is the glass half full or am I dying instead

I wonder how it came to this
is it just bad luck
or an absence of bliss

And as the clock strikes noon
I do already know
I lick my wounds along the way
yes when the clock strikes noon
I do already know
I count my wounds along the way

Oh how I long for simpler days
I found a pair of gloves on a sunken tray

yet I will stick to my answers
but who will get me them, 
when there is no wind blowing