Brings a feeling of helplessness
And all of the leftover Christmas cookies
Are not satisfying but cloying.
Our bovine grazing leaves the kitchen ravaged
And our stomachs are overfull
But still we eat,
Finding ourselves only hungrier.
Our minds, our senses, need refreshment
And our desperate starving spirits moan ceaselessly.
Our skin is pallid
And desiccated by the artificial heat.
The sun hasn't shone for days.
To where may we escape?
Oct 19, 2010
Oct 19, 2010 at 1:02 PM UTC
Brings a feeling of helplessness
And all of the leftover Christmas cookies
Are not satisfying but cloying.
Our bovine grazing leaves the kitchen ravaged
And our stomachs are overfull
But still we eat,
Finding ourselves only hungrier.
Our minds, our senses, need refreshment
And our desperate starving spirits moan ceaselessly.
Our skin is pallid
And desiccated by the artificial heat.
The sun hasn't shone for days.
To where may we escape?
- From Terms of Endearment
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