I cannot sustain this melody.
The melodrama is too much for me.
Infinitudes hint at the intoxicated mindstate.
Crass finiteness kills the fun of daily being.
Money is a word loaded with false promises.
Bullets jump at you from within blue barrels.
Tomorrow means little to me.
Today is already over.

So whatever became of my genuine optimism?
Check it with the charlatan optometrist
Who tests your eyes for tiredness & tearstrain
Overlooking your voluntary blindness.
Energy exhausts itself
Despite my dynamism.

I am waiting for inspiration to take me
Home to the heart of absolute expression
So I can make an impression on plasma
On this planet and later the rest.
Why I do it is beyond me.
It borders upon...



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