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Nov 2011
The mountains aren’t calling my name
I hear the river is turning into wine
And this road will never end
Father, this world isn’t mine

Praise this ode to chaos,
Recite a prayer to fate
“Nothing can be done”
“Nothing can be done”

I’m a mortal and I’m a sinner
My heart is just about still
Kick off your boots, sit on your throne
Bury us in another landfill

Why won’t you come?
Give us something to believe
We’re patient and we’re waiting
But soon we’ll have to leave
This is a poem written a few months ago in the summer, most likely in August, about the French play *italic*Waiting For Godot*italic* by Samuel Beckett.
Danielle C
Written by
Danielle C  NJ
(NJ)   
511
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