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I convey here, To Whom it May Concern, I am writing this letter in regardTo the dead man rot in the boulevardIts stench, I begin to find rather hardTo continue with complete disregard
How do I fill this void I have tried distractions and diversions But I am still a very sad person. I try not to lose my writing passion
Dirty handprints are scattered
Through these blue eyes I see The destruction if a war scarred land By these cold hands I touch The lips of those that have died With this broken heart I feel
What do I want? What do I need? What could possibly motivate me? I've seen the horror, the desolution the absolute aberration that humanity can create the sex, the drugs
I can not die.I can not live.I can not lie.I can not give My world falls, down a spiral I can not see. Who's that guy? Me, I..
The place with the sand and sea is abandoned, Empty. Deserted. Bumpy tracks of vehicles are freshly anew, But no other traces of a once crowded beach left behind.
Desolation is a dusty road How soothing is a leader’s gentle sigh In DC, crowds buzzing and humming with anticipation. Will 1963 change the course of the world? He tells us Dreams grew in the cotton fields
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