the scent of senseless social suicides
hang like the bouquet of spilt beer fallen to the floor
the lost days of lost men ripples in the memory
and the good old days are no more

we tasted freedom like a lamb from the sheep’s teat
we danced to the promises we all swore we would keep
we crawled like little turtles from that bottomless sea
then it dried up and left us in misery

we were young angels that left the nest of youth
we were strangers in a strange world, swooned
we had no scintilla of an idea of what lies ahead
the good ones died young, and the bad ones live in dread

the sins of our fathers weened us to dare
to be better than they were, without a care
there were bullets with wings in our arrogant eyes
we were so naive, and would not compromise

there is no Tardis time machine to take us back
(9 doctor, we went wrong, the man in the mirror…
doctor, who is that??)
we take the medicine to help us sleep
we’re drowning and the world’s too deep

we’re drowning and the world’s too deep

(c) 2017 allen wolfie simpson

Inspired by rumours of angels…

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