Dream of a world the way it should be,
And we dance in the sun so we will not see,
And the beer fuels and guides us.
A tribute to the feeling that there's nothing else there,
And he showed the way to salvation,
And we laughed and asked what he is drinking.
We sold our souls for the dirt under our nails,
And he did smile as he wished us all goodbye,
And we didn't notice the tears from his eyes.
So he left, a pack on his back,
And a cross to bear,
And we forced on this exile to the back of our minds.
YOU ARE READING
Soft Curses of Angels - Volume 1 - A Fistful of Dust
PoesíaThe earliest part of my chronological anthology of bad poetry. Estimated age at time of writing 12-16. I both thank and apologise to any soul who takes the time to read these.
