Wednesday, May 13, 2009


A wasted morning, a stale newspaper
it’s too late for the bread and butter
I just want you here with me
And I’ll tell of my morning dream

Why stare at the telephone
Expecting that it would ring?
Why frown at the rocking chair?
When the unrest is deep within?

A train derailed some stations off
And spoiled the day for the busy bees
Some reached late and some were hurt
And someone died with the morning dream

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