Cold window staring from a mist of a breath that made a mind out of that. Exceeding on price of climbing the range to make a frightening evaluation on a single town. Regardless to its tale, it feared no other than the principle of crime. Rioting on a lifer for death, smiling as it watches its penny for the sea. Cold for the day and never shadowing the presence from the wings of the night. Stirring the grey fat old day with the sun. Imitating the crown to fall in love with the golden gun. Foundation found a new one to kill, grey matter with a skillet for the Turks on saving the children. Never found a day so fulfilling and grand. I thought we were going to the promise land? It was just a lie...
This poem makes no REAL sense but I just thought of it right now. Hope you guys like it.
02-16-2003, 12:53 PM
