Both saint and sinner, expert and beginner
Accepted and refused, clarity confused.
A thief that's given much, isolated craving touch.
Profound yet often times profane, quite well but very much insane
Done it all had it done, have every one but still have none.
There my quandary lies, as the dampened laundry dries
To execute my vision I must shoot with cold precision
A time relative sister brother, resides in here as any other
Accuracy must exist with every errant beat that's missed
And so, what must I do to find this peace and see it through?