in grandiose dreams of building castles that last of sand stone and other things from the dirt, the air is free so I'm told, I should build castles in the air and foundations under them, said of chicanery the old fool by the pond, but none the less it is what it is, imaginary, never materialized, sadness in the face of it, to get out of town starting down a quite calm road that lead nowhere, I walk out to nothing

the slaves mustn't revolt they mustn't think they must be quite and sit still, their arms move and no more hear hear you dunce back to your seat there are lines to scribe and things to quarter back to it back to it worthless meat neeord waits for none

the streets aren't clean, left in this gutter to dream, out at the cars I see the stars and their precise meander oh how I wish I were a star without a care in the world, pun intended hurhur, looking down upon everyone else and going about it, these mechanical birds wound up must be such fun to watch, ****, **** and ****, oh I wish I were a star. I sit here in this filth, putrid, but home, a star I am for myself, shining black gold.

this crippling fear the walls close and so it would seems the madness of it all consuming, for the walls they close and I'm here and nothing is changing, the sun sets and that is that, don't lie down, time to go at it again, happy ******* friday here's a monday for you.