Something Somewhere

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
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Submitted: December 01, 2007

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Submitted: December 01, 2007

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All the riches with rags, those people full of scorn

Read testimonies of children refusing to be born

Speaking of the future to an undertakers son

And empty like the conscience of a loaded gun.

Lonely streets are narrow, But they do lead away

Underwater breathing means no drowning in the bay

A hundred euro a week for a one bed room

Sitting up at night with the shadows and the moon

Fingers full of splinters carve wooden thrones for kings

Who all remain seated when the national anthem rings

A long distance riffle takes the innocent as he smokes

Long distanced killer won't watch his eyes as he chokes

Collecting others memories in an old empty shoe box

Cunning as the corpse of a road traffic flattened fox

Making love to sympathy, who leaves when the hour is up

Horrors happening in symphony, nobody dares to look

Mirrors lie in pieces, as vanity takes its seat

Seven years of rain, makes puddles at your feet

Nowhere near as comfy as a politicians pocket

You start the war and then you want to stop it?

Want to be burried but they'll charge you for the space

Underground real estate, these things take place.

Something somewhere has gone terribly wrong.


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