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The view from down here.
Silhouette stranger's scattered lights,
In hand-me-down houses and council flat nights,
In not being known, a private delight,
But as a bird in it's cage, it's sad, out of sight.
The smell of disdain in the pouring rain,
Becoming ever more potent as it falls again,
The bitter-sweet pain of elusive strife,
I'm swiftly sketching a stagnant life.
Tomorrow's demands stretch out their hands,
Trenching my feet in these old sands,
Night's ink comes back to blot the Sun's ray,
Oh, you cruel architect of my new day.
Attire of lowly and shy grey,
No longer will I clothe my body in your cliché,
Passion is still burning in my paralysed soul,
I need not your stability to make me whole.
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