Bracken Harvest
Its just not summer
Without the sun
When I'm swimming
Beneath the waves
And the sky is clouding up
In a den of strangers
And of theives.
Slaking their thirst
For fresh blood
Under the sky
Dark as mud
As they hunt
Us all to death
I just need to catch a breath
Fawning prophesies
Speak of naught
But the chicken squabblings
Of spoilt children
Do they run
Behind the shed
Or back to last summer?
Tuesday, May 18, 2004
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