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We were never in sepia
but the scarier it gets,
the creepier it will become
and the yellowing of your skin
is due to the lack of Sun.

We all look like old photographs
the ones in well-loved albums
the ones that look like we had fun
sometime
somewhere
in the Sun.

Morbid?
blame
Covid

nnnnnnineteen.
So
they tell you things are just so so and then you wonder,
why you don't give up and let yourself go under, but you
know that's not the way
we've got to live and fight for each day
and when you're dragging it out at the bottom
of the rockpile
you gotta realise that very soon in a short while
the tables will be turned
the bridges don't have to burn,

they'll still tell you what they want to
there's no need to believe it,
you're on the ladder up and
you know you can make it,
so
take a tip from me
believe in yourself and see.
It looks like four but it's after ten,
it's still dark and there's no ink
in my pen
so I'm typing this
in
by torchlight.

2020,
so night during the day
looks like it's the way
that things are going to go.
I could have been a Maoist,
a Taoist, a cavalier, a buccaneer,
an egotist, a demagogue an atheist
or a communist.
I opted to be a ventriloquist
a chance or choice to have
more than one voice.
Coffee one, gone,
number
two on the way.

They
told me that this day would come,
that the sky would fall in and the sun
wouldn't shine,
but Tuesday at nine?
that's a helluva time for their words
to be true,
although
in fairness the greyness has beauty
The bells that ring
the choirs that sing
the postman who'll
bring
you an electricity bill
which
is different from
the 'old bill'
they'll only bring you
grief.
No matter how hard
you pray on a Sunday,
Monday still comes.

it'll carry on
until they carry
me off.
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