We were told it would stop,
Is it me or do some people believe,
What turns out to be not?
Then you sit thinking what became of it,
Look at the rafters rot,
There's no connection between thoughts and life,
Except alone what's either of them got?
Sometimes you've just got to empty the pail,
Though some water gets through,
After thousands of drops forming one shape,
You should want something new.
I'm naseous now,
It's time to go to sleep,
To the soothing sounds of a crumbling house,
Tonight I'll have to be counting wet sheep.
No comments:
Post a Comment