The Other Signal
Poetry mostly, and anything else my mind spills out
Monday, May 30, 2011
This all sounds very cyclica
i could stand it on a bicycle
but my feet are killing me
instilling me with regret
filling me with doubt
about what life's really about.
the vultures are circling the culture
and its giving in
living in sin and drowning in gin
with the outsiders frowning looking in...
Theresa time to grow old and a time to grow cold.
This time fits neither mold
This couldnt have been bought
Despite you fascination with currency
The trite dedication to tyranny
Fall in line in time to get your dime
Fine by me
My time is here
My Time is NOW
Fear for me dear
Tear for me dear
To late to hear from me
To late to be near to me
But what is time to be so late.
What is love without some hate?
Where is eden when the seventh trumpet is rung?
Where will we be
When the Patron saint of the LOST and the DAMNED
has sung her song to every last man?
Will this span of time prove lucrative
or is it the incentive to lie down
without a sound
calm before the storm
worn and torn
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