A Modern Human’s Discomfort

Under the milk-shine

Ancient soul brine

Murder of the daily grind

Looking at you, what do I find?

 

No religion in our minds

No way to pass the time

No more words to rhyme.

 

Stuck here I watch as you die

And cry

and sigh

When can we fly?

Why aren’t you high?

 

Listen to me whine

 

Let’s get out of this pig-sty

“Don’t hurt yourself,” I reply.

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