We gather in the mud to get our allowance
Sometimes we just don’t mind about the wicked shades of our goals
Drowning our eyes in the lens of a camera
And scanning the objects with our voices tired to work
The letter you wrote me hasn’t arrived yet
So I’m pledging my brains to the pages of a scary dada poem
Your favourite shirt of mine left in the launderette
It won’t be worn the day of your return
You know
I poured on a carpet
All your fears
And tried to keep some certainty for all our years
Our alien millenium..a thousand terms
Our alien millenium..we’re sorting out a thousand terms

SUBMIT CORRECTIONS