Laughs leave like childlike stupor
Stunned by the admiration of boredom
Nothing left but praying for ones own soul
Left demensions ago on a little island land
Laying drenched in depression with words
That resound...therapy...does a sound
Make a noise in the doctors office...no
It says you've seen it all, but the imagination
Is light years away when you have dismantled
Time itself, leaving them with one thing to speak
What's the weather like. Used grace like comroderary
Leaves the hollow tipping point centered in the forehead
The only prize one is that if He comes I can point and say
I tried, Lord knows, I tried.
Christopher Baird 2011 ©
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