When people talk, are they heard? When people write, is it read? When people lie, does anyone know? While I’m writing this, does anyone know what I’m writing?
sitting in a maze of thorns and free lying in a maze of branches and free being with nature free, life
She’s got her nails painted gold Parents getting old And frankly I don’t know just what to do But if I were you I’d act a little less colder towards her Take her on a walk and Get her head back on her shoulders There’s some silver plated glass If you turn yourself around Get off your ass girl You’re better than that But you Won’t It’s what’s keeping you cooped up Locked up, lockdown Look down, look around My little mercury girl. That’s exactly it No one ever told you you were different From everyone else No I didn’t say that they Lied, but you were Lying to yourself Before you found him If only you saw yourself The way I saw you You could make that silver plated glass Disappear too But you Won’t It’s what’s keeping you cooped-up Locked up, lockdown Look down, look around My little mercury girl.
PS: the magic page that will always jump you to the latest poem is "http://www.saintannsny.org/depart/computer/poems.html"