Wednesday, 18 April 2012

Lose The Pack (Before You Fall On Your Back)

Boeing seven-three-seven smile,
House-fly lips
Talking against clean glass;
Graffiti stained flesh
The collage of bombs and pieces
From years past by,
The little kid at the family dinner,
Just home from the pantomime.

Doing a Downs Syndrome dance,
Just going on and on;
Bailing from the sea bed
In a thunderstorm.
Done like a war in a far off land,
Covered by a left-wing media;
It was never in hand
And always doomed.

A hedgehog caught out
Next to a foot,
Ball up, fetal,
Stay put, no spikes to see you right!
Boeing seven-three-seven smile;
Where's the wings,
Its time to fly, live a life
Of all things!

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