I try to find a path Through the overgrowing trees That will take me to a place Where I can find some peace Yet I find no comfort When I make this journey Like some distant memory Which cannot be revived For the past Cannot bring back the dead So I am truly alone As I walk Through a garden of pain.
Thick knob of English butter melting on a hot toasted teacake, Petite young waitress bent over the counter, Her playful smile so teasing; Fizzing with radiance; Like a lamb in spring.
I could smell her innocence. Something about those cute cotton ankle socks; The way she flicked her long black hair; The way her derriere looked so appetizing, As I slurped my frothy cappuccino. She must have been half my age...
Something in the air The news cycle of violence Populist leaders gaining ground Divisive forces at work Turning one against the other Censorship increasing Police militarization Tear gas Feeling of insecurity On the periphery of society Job cuts Wage reduction political rhetoric intoxicating.