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Waste of the Day
Sam Mud
Mafia dawg
Prairie Rebel hound Soggy dog Carter
Crumpled can of
Faces on a map
A map with lonely corners bent and creased
Roaring fish at opening
No more bedspins
Not even a bed
while living to belong
Follow the fortunes to the sun
West Coast pacific
Island up Busters
Dump scenes from Cotton Creek
I watch with painted eyes and a helpful smile
A burning cigarettes
Keeps time
Sacrificing my soul
To free the world
Not a chance
Islands in the sky
When the ozone decayed
Friendships all time
headlights shine
Like passing eyes Delicate sinking spear
A poor man rounds
The world got flipping and this towns went dead
Losing that connection connection between my eyes and my heart
Already lost my Chakra
Talk to me its the greatest day
Somewhere we lost what was a fierce embrace by the wind
As we fade to white
The house killed
All that remained
Far from the furthest truth
In your side of town
Love is served
With a side order of generousity
In this small town
Rolling hills passed the quarry alone in the pasture at last everything stops
Protesting my lonely eyes with your perky smile
If you dont believe
With hands held and face down
We burned with molten desire
Packed our bags left this town
Did somebody have an ace up their sleeve
Or were they just winning too much
But we were family
Drink played music charade
More to ignore
In fact the better it gets
One could be guess As somebody got hurt
Someone got killed
Copyright ©
Greg Slode Smith
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