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The Split Infinitives

We'll start at the bottom
When I turned shaking, crowded rafters into a faint hum
As I bury myself in restlessness
I'll try and make the best of this

As parents watch their daughters and sons
They're marching in pairs going one by one

What am I doing here
Fake along with the crowd and cheer
Together, alone
To each his and every own

Temper a look on my face
Pleasant enough to get me away from my place
I can make this something else
And I turn

As I turn around
This is where my scattered thoughts are found