Saturday, November 05, 2005

its the dirt under my fingernails
that brings me to my knees
and as superman flies by
i ask, and wonder - why.

the cigarette smoke is growing
a pusling vein in my lungs
i want a mob to come and suffocate me
where can the storm go, but east.

and in the dark alleys
with a raincloud, and tired concreate,
the eyes roll back
and for a world's heartbeat
a lifeboat sails by, looking for a saviour,
and its name "Good Times" goes on.


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