Friday, 6 January 2012

Home is What you call it (First draft)

Home is what you call it,
Torture - it is my slave,
I’m growing tired of living,

Each day closer to my grave,
The remarkable and the witty,
They’re a-crossing the seas,

Exploring something extraordinary,
While I’m here on my knees,
Life is downright depressing,

Though your trade is upright oppressing,
Though the spires and spectres will gather their heir,
And the gathering that dilutes will be in your lair,
I may sound sad and lonely,
And the truth I guess is I am,
But I’d rather be the only
Than compress and be a phony,

Diplomacy is not needed,
Unconditionally I love you too,
The lies are spreading through mouths
And the liar hums a tune,

For I’m not really bitter,
I’m just swallowing my tongue,
If we were out this country,
We’d be smiling under this gun.

Life is downright depressing,
And your smile is slightly stressing,
Here the rich and poor gather for everything
And their gathering comes to absolutely nothing,
I know these were elections,
And truly I missed the point,
The point of my interaction,
Was to admit to my confession.

My cosmic ocean is running dry,
Your voice only a memory,
Memories are lonely at best,
Nothing lasts forever, stars also die

Home is what they call it, Home is what you make it.

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