Roughly as poetic as a bag of smashed arseholes.







Scribble back.


Tuesday, 26 October 2010

6. Sinatran rhythm

As if in a Sinatran rhythm,
I can see blue skies and nothing else
I can see waves crashing down to earth
I can see seagulls circling their perch;
The sun is smiling, I can see it now
I can see sunlight heating up the town
Turning those frowns, upside down
And each new person is so happy to
Be alive, in this old shining city
And each new person is so happy to
Be alive, in this old Sinatran world


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