Nothing Left But Dirt (Not That I Mind)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Nothing, just a short little poem. Doesn't flow very well though.

Submitted: December 17, 2009

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Submitted: December 17, 2009



Well there’s nothing left but dirt
In my crystal, see through ball
But it still injects a rythym,
And the visions; must’ve seen em all
Nothing left but the atrocities of Man
Something that will never change
So sitting on a cardboard box I’m thinking to myself,
About dropping a few coins to the local bum
And feeling quite heartfelt
But all that kindness just makes me feel at fault

Well there’s nothing left but faith
And all the gods are losing
Rather try my luck on a two sided quarter,
Than praying to a wooden figure
And nobody has to sell me anything
Worth any type of value cause I’ll just sell it anyway
And though I watch the news
I cannot stand to worry, about all these crazy days
The world has gone to hell, I swear; I must’ve heard em all

Gnawing on the leg of my own mother
She swore to never leave me but now it don’t bother
Like the sun is licking my arms,
Whenever a single rock is eclipsed by the stone
But now I’m not too sure if I should have tried,
To make myself a little smarter
And so in the following days I blew around everything

Well there’s nothing left but dirt
On my stricken boots
But it still infects a body
With its hapless know-it-all
Nothing left but beguiling rights,
And alarming speeches, not to mention anything at all
But if I was to live a life full of purpose
The charm would quickly wear away,
And I would vomit sludge all over the floor

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