Chaff Vs Wheat

a saraband Your tirade comes, it doth commence, a hundred miles away I sense your raging, whiny voice so tense. In restful tones, my evening sigh doth thank these stars, you’re in L.A. I shirk my duties ever nigh and thoughts engage where'er they may. As I recline, dark quickly falls and in my dreams, I snub your calls. Yet when I wake, receding walls resound your dire return to home. I sense both hearts long to be free. Go claim L.A., just let me roam these miles that winnow thee from me.