Fallen shoes sit on the feet of a dead mind.
The spirit is gone.
The leather is semi-dead:
The laces are dead. There never were any.
The sole is dead, killed by countless gravel.
The buckle is alive.
All the rest is at rest,
Or dragged along by a thoughtless foot
Trying to twist the buckle
And to annihilate whatever soul there was
In the dead shoe.