Setting sun

Sunstroke and beer

cloud my vision,

and all I feel

is self-forged division.

I’ve lost my flow.

Tainted by situations.

Poetry’s a no go.

I struggle to change stations,

and instead listen to

my own dead air.

This land was our land

but I’m now a deaf heir,

to a throne

of nothingness.

I’m the King

of meaninglessness.

Because I have nothing

of any interest to say.

It’s probably always

been this way.

Am I just a dirty thief,

a stanza crook,

stealing ideas?

Who gives a fuck!?

Cos I’m the problem.

I’m in the wrong,

and I distract you from that

with the words of my song.

I have nothing

nothing new to speak.

I’m just trying to hide

that fact I’m a freak.


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