Monday, August 2, 2010

Around the Village Pump

White sheets of thick air,
The blind eye sees only truth,
You must forget and not compare,
The village whore, the kissing booth.
People never really ever change,
They shift beneath a microscope,
They bide their time then they refrain,
To rest on clouds or so they hope.
The liar is in every man,
His lust he cannot hope to hide,
His tears he cries for he alone,
And other men he must abide.
I suppose you could have it all,
So dream big or not at all,
Latex bodies a new resolve,
So dream big and grow big balls!
Latex windows, doors and rugs....
And yet his lust he cannot hope to hide.
Other men he must abide.
Ride the cluster! Ride, ride, ride!
Dash away all, then crash inside.
The cluster of latex,
The ball of hopes and dreams,
It lies upon the pavement,
Dash away all my schemes.
This isn't the end.
Rise like a phoenix.
This is not pretend,
This is life I HAVE SEEN IT!

No comments:

Post a Comment