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Old 11-16-2004, 05:27 PM
joys joys is offline
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Join Date: May 2001
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Supposed to be a poem

Forgive me all, this is not a poem... A real poem should give the same meaning when translated such as:
Living free as a tree
and together as a forest

These days I turn and talk to myself
I ask what I am doing here
Well, that's something many people ask
Well, that's many people do,
They are here, they exist.
and I have to be one of them

These days I turn and talk to myself
I ask where I am in thease sheds
Well, you're in a shed everybody else is
Well, how many people there?
They are here, they are protected
and I have to be one of them

These days I turn and talk to myself
I ask how I am doing here
Well, that's something many people ask
Well, that's how many people are,
They are doing fine, they are fine.
and I have to be one of them

These days I turn and talk to myself
I ask why I am doing here
No what, no where, no how....
Found no answers, no means
I turn to people
I just find whats
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I always wanted to fuck reality but reality always fucked me before.
Angels in America
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