| Lacking sleep and food and vision
|
| Here I am again, encamped upon you
|
| Floor, craving sanctuary and
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| Nourishment, encouragement and
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| Sanctity and more.
|
| The streets seemed very crowded,
|
| I put on my bravest guide —
|
| I know you know that I am acting,
|
| I can see it in your eyes.
|
| In the harsh light of freedom I know
|
| That I cannot deny that I have wasted
|
| Time, have frittered it away in idle boasts
|
| Of my freedom and idelity, when simpler
|
| Words would have profited the most…
|
| … it isn’t enough in the end, when I’m
|
| Looking for hope.
|
| Through the organ-monkey screams as the
|
| Pipes begin to spit
|
| Still he’ll go through the dance routines
|
| Just as long as he thinks they’ll fit,
|
| Just as long as he knows that it’s dance,
|
| Smile — or quit.
|
| Like a monkey I dance to a strange tune
|
| When all of those years I’ve longed to lie
|
| With you but have bogged myself down in The web of talk, quack philosophy
|
| And sophistry —
|
| At physically I’ve always baulked, like the
|
| Man in the chair who believes it’s beyond
|
| Him to walk.
|
| I’ve been hiding behind words,
|
| Fearing a deeper flame exists, |