Real life vs. past times

There are these terrible moments in life where I ask myself
what the Fuck is going on?
how did I get here?
and where am I going?
Where are my hopes and dreams?
Where did I start?

And then I realize my answers don't really matter,
or is that my questions that aren't quite right?
people say that sometimes, that the questions aren't right.

I forget some times..............I forget.
Just like I forget my time tables
and my northern life.
and my southern manners.
and that everywhere strife.

there must be something
something
something in that water that
Satan keeps on serving me.
and i like it too,
that cool fresh cup-of-elixir
that shit tyson, and jack
and billy graham always tell me is poison

That love, that passion, that extra hand
that honesty, that realization, that reality
my shaky unsteady breath,

not needing them telling me to drop the candy,
when they have no intentions of giving me anything
but water.
"Man does not live on bread alone"
Will water sustain me?

That's okay because I've met cooks, and souf chefs,
and big mammas, and mothers, and lunch line ladies
and none of them have ever met with the Good Lord
or even thought of him in a directional kind of way

so those moments. those terrible moments.
That doubt.
the undeniable orienteering flaws,
the dreams I never dreamed of
and the realities I never expected.
They are my starting place.
I move up, and I look down to see how I got here.