TRAGEDY … 1988

What time has made of me
Cut away the preshious things
Then peel away the inner skin
And there you will find dust

Dust, same as blows down city streets
And in the corner by the garbage can
Will stand in ridge of oldest pain
Once made of living flesh
Pressed against you

Now my bike and my guitar
Are closest to me
Nothiong else can come neer
For fear I’ll feel that pain again
To tear any reformation
Of heart from dust
And render me unconcious

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