Imperfect Circles

"Tales Of Brave Ulysses" by Cream was running through my mind while I wrote this. So I guess this can somewhat be sung to that tune.

I draw some perfect circles,
Which cast shadows of doubt,
Their perfections imperfect them,
And so I rub them out.
My sphere of thought they circle,
They help me lose my breath,
They deprive me of my functions,
I live my life in death.

I sleep with eyes wide open,
I wake when thoughts have spoken,
To my brain wrought with fever,
And to eyes which barely see...

I mock the glowing sun god,
I die when this half lives,
And when the moon comes over,
I am the light it gives.
And when this self is laid down
It blinks with beads of salt,
Or shakes till south comes over,
And brings it to a halt.

At rest it only tires,
Absorbed with soul desires,
It locks itself in deeper,
Though it wishes to be free...

Delivered from temptations,
It cripples in good health,
Its strength does make it weaker,
From blows that hunger dealt.
And its mind fails to function,
It shuns new words and signs,
But the limbs are still limber,
From picking sounds divine.

The wait is nearly over,
I scaled the cliffs of dover,
The day needs must be nearer,
When myself can become me...

The circles keep on rolling,
But friction wears them down,
As I await my calling,
From farther than crosstown,
I draw more perfect circles,
Which trap me in and out,
As I wait for those beyond me,
To deftly rub them out.