Thursday, June 01, 2017


Well, there goes my record,
Of you know what I mean,
Surrounded now by homegrown foreigners,
Nothing like I have seen,

Unable to imagine origins,
To my left or my right,
Luddites staring into oblivion,
Blurry-eyed sleepers after a late night,

Nighttime fumes meant to cover one's odors,
With nothing that's better,
Reminds me that there's a very thin line,
You wish you ne'er met her,
Oh my lord god,
That these things the exist,
Makes it hard to believe in a future,
Not destined to finish in bloody fists.

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