Sing
Sing of all we have
lost. Might there be a dream that remains true?
Listless and hidden the outgoing glare.
We live in an idiot box,
with many shaded idiot lights.
So far gone are the glory days of Timbuktu
There is a time in
this modern day where,
the light holds the sun in a hostile decay,
When
The trees are gripped between lines of searing sway.
A romance defined by skylines,
before the sky.
And sight stretches only as far as our own swollen bellies.
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