Sure, I know that you are tired of hearing about it, but most repeat the same theme over and over again
It's as if they were trying to refine what seems so strange and off and important to them
It's done by everybody because each must work out what is before them over and over again because that is their personal tiny miracle
Like now as like before and before I have been listening to symphony after symphony from this radio
Makes me realize that certain people now long dead were able to transgress graveyards and traps and cages and bones and limbs
In tiny rented rooms I was struck by miracles
The flesh covers the bone
And they put a mind in there and
Sometimes a soul,
And the women break vases against the walls
And the men, they drink too much and
Nobody ever finds the one but keep looking
Crawling in and out of beds
Flesh covers the bone and the flesh
Searches for more than flesh
There is a loneliness in this world so great
That you can see it in the slow movement of the hands of a clock
People so tired, mutilated
Either by love or no love
People just are not good to each other
We are afraid
Our educational system tells us that we can all be big winners
But it hasn't told us about the gutters or the suicides
Or the terror of one person aching in one place, alone
Untouched
Unspoken to
People are not good to each other
I suppose they never will be
I don't ask them to be
But sometimes I think about it
There must be a way
Surely there must be a way
There is no chance at all
We are all trapped by fate
Nobody ever finds the one
Who put this brain inside of me?
It says that there is a chance
It's kept the rope from my throat
Maybe it will loosen yours
The city dumps fill
The junkyards fill
The graveyards fill
Nothing else fills
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