I speak with the bitterness of
the fruit of the grass
who never knew the taste
of the suns sweet rays
that must be content
till the end of his days
with the knowledge
he goes unremarked and unremarkable
I speak with the yearning of a bird
bound to land
who the winds soft caress can't assuage
you see his deep shudders
he is not stone
and mistakenly think him afriaid.
the sky calls him home
his shop bought heart quickens
yet he remains till the end
a land locked beast
I speak in the tounge of the lonley, unloved.
hidden in wide open spaces
desperate nay eager, will pay any price
to find the self in your good graces
a sweet bitter truth
an almost irony
they kill you for caring
its true.
wanting garrantees your demise
far better in future to say on the ground
where condescending angels can't see you.
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