17/08/2008

if I stood up to be counted my head would roll, the poetic life I don't know, I hate the bloody name, yet its where I can run and keep my things together. I have no choice , born so nothing else works, a name is what all
man has , what name I can I find rolling in death and bouncing up with love and happiness. A doctor is cured by his thousand patience he has paid society to treat him , yet in my skin, who do I pay , what job is for me, who needs a bloody poet when every man has a song with tunes him so