Friday, 29 April 2011


The next time you shuffle round
and here the sound, of nothing
covering surruoundings with a blinding echo
There's always luck to guide the path of a thousand ways

Sure, we can pray for a miracle
Or individual features maybe too obese, or too opaque
Or the gifts we received fail to ever bloat us
Happily throw it into earthquake

We never see our gifts as presents,

Be proud and never deny,

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