Couldn't feel the fibre,
Alone with distant sound.
Where to does one fly,
When all is lost or gone .
Dreams of better times,
No longer allowed to sooth.
Rough and ready cowboys,
A ranch with a kangaroo.
Whip yourself together,
Or get off the rhetoric plot.
This place has been overrun,
An idealic hope it's not.
Spare me your spite.
This is real life.
Monday, January 22, 2007
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