"mecca" poems
*Growing to a man and embracing my life.
My commitment to Allah, a journey begins with no strife.
Once in a lifetime, a pilgrimage to Mecca must be the end,
To my commitment to my religion and forgiveness of sin.
Number 7 has meaning as the journey begins.
First stop Medina, as I seek out peace.
Hajj station to Bath, dress in the Ihram.
Praying at Masjid Nabawi, purity, equality for all.
A statement of intent, I commit to all.
Entry to Masjid al-Haram complex is now allowed.
Circling seven times Kaaba as I pray to God.
Sipping water from Zam Zam to keep the law.
Walk through the hills of Safa and Marwa times seven,
Where I pray seven times more.
Prayers along the way to my God,
At Mount Arafat then other sacred sites.
Kneeling down to pray to Allah, Day and night.
Sleeping the night with 5 million strong,
Then rise up to stone the devil to atone,
Shaving head for cleansing, showing respect for God.
Sacrifice lambs to feed the poor.
Onward to Mecca, back once more.
Circle Kaaba, pray to my God
Repeating Tawaf on each turn of seven and no more.
Circle Safa, Marwa then on to Mina.
On to Mecca again for more prayers to my God
Enter Makkah performing Hajj,
Before the faithful return to Mecca on seven then do a farewell Tawaf.*
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 11:28 PM UTC
I have been in the moon
In search of love all noon
Searched through deserts
Even through garden of Eden.
I have Searched beneath the sea
Travelled wide even to overseas
Still could not find love.
I went to Vatican
Even to Mecca
Driven through the romantic sites of Paris
Bath in the Brazilian beaches
Flown across the Atlantic
Pitched my tenth for few days on the Antarctic
Spend some more on the arctic
Still I saw no love.
All I saw was lust
Angels with broken hearts,
Rotten roses,
Withered lilies,
Death faiths and monsters on beautiful faces.
I saw bullets in church offering boxes
Just wedded on number plates of ambulances.
I saw wars in diversity
Pain and mourning crowding all cities
The devil celebrating the dead of peace.
I saw three wise men
Where went love, I asked them
They said love has been nailed on the cross
Buried with trust
They are heading to Galilee
To await his return.
I followed with dreams
I met many returning with smiles of frustration
From where I was going with pregnancy of expectations.
We arrived to the scene
Like a nightmare, I witnessed higher sins
I saw men taking pleasures with men
Some with animals, some women with women.
Gun everybody walking sticks
People feeding on people flesh
With human blood the thirsting ones quench their thirst.
Is this where love is expected to return?
The wise men retorted,
Yes, the saints have been raptured
And his seven years reign has just began.
Then in a flash, I remembered that I have been taught
Taught about this dreadful end
I had also taught kids
Under trees at nights
Just to threaten them to live right.
What I thought was a mare threat or a fallacy
Has been awaken against my fate in reality.
Oh! We are among the leftovers
Left to reprove ourselves or be doomed forever.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
Growing to a man and embracing my life.
My commitment to Allah, a journey begins with no strife.
Once in a life time, a pilgrimage to Mecca must be the end,
To my commitment to my religion and forgiveness of sin.
Number 7 has meaning as the journey begins.
First stop Medina, as I seek out peace.
Hajj station to Bath and dress in the Ihram.
Praying at Masjid Nabawi, purity, equality for all.
A statement of intent, I commit to all.
Entry to Masjid al Haram complex is now allowed.
Circling seven times Kaaba as I pray to God.
Sipping water from Zam Zam to keep the law.
Walk through the hills of Safa and Marwa times seven,
Where I pray seven times more.
Prayers along the way to my God,
At Mount Arafat and other sacred sites.
Kneeling down to pray to Allah, Day and night.
Sleeping the night with 5 million strong,
Then rise up to stone the devil to atone,
Shaving head for cleansing, showing respect for God.
Sacrifice lambs to feed the poor.
Onward to Mecca and back once more.
Circle Kaaba and pray to my God
Repeating Tawaf on each turn of seven and no more.
Circle Safa, Marwa and on to Mina.
Then to Mecca again for more prayers to my God
Enter Makkah performing Hajj,
Before the faithful return to Mecca on seven and do a farewell Tawaf.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 8:31 PM UTC
Fatima Latima
I had wished I had no gift of sight
That the worst I could endure is hear you speak
And not snapshot the footfall of your gradation
You may not be a thief
Nor **** daughter of the dayspring
But definitely my heart you stole
I speak of the daughter of Arabia
Aesthetically, she rocks
The queen of the pilgrim sands
And aeonian desert stones
Beyond the hijab
Artistically knead with consummate craft
Like the relics of Mecca
Blest by the prophet’s bones
The blessed
I see torches
Beaming with intelligence
Within those mascaras
Exquisitely trimmed and vibrant
A lulu class botany
She fixes a searching gaze
As she saunters close
And the stride and tread
Beats a drum entrancing
Soothed in her solacing spell
I give in, to her lullaby
She halts her perambulation
Stands magniloquent and stupefy
Like some pop diva magazine pose
Or Victorian secret shot
A tactical derangement of her gluteals
As she rests her palm in its cleft
I feel contractions, my dartos muscles
The blew of summertime
Gently beats her exceptional form
Her belt submerge her thigh crevice
Cleft by the sundered rift of fleshy fat
Built by the dainties and delicacies
Seasoned by the finest Arabian chef
As her silken dress slithers and gowns
Under the breeze bulging and blooming
Like a rose blossom or sunflower fore
As she bends down
To assuage the burlesque
The sun specula lilts her sensational
Her smile apologetic bids me stillness
I am caught staring
Guzzling down her scent and
Feasting on empty imaginations
Of What If that accentuate the mind and
Speed a hormone
And I pray I sin no more
Next time we meet and I see her again
For I am but a writer
Learning to use my pen and paper
And hope you but forgive
My linguistic impotence
When I make my confession
Employing too plain a language
When I say thus;
Her smile is classical
Her walk magical
Her beauty celestial
Her stride sensational
Her religion ethical
Her character spotless
And that leaves me breathless
And forgive if I step on broken toe
And try speak of the unspoken
Her ****** is sacred
Her being a type that dresses up
In the milliards of brutes dressing down
And shamelessly style it fashion
I must see a priest
One confession I ought to utter
And even vociferate abroad
For once I had fallen in love
With an Arabian Beautie
A ****** of Mecca.
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 9:12 AM UTC
First Kiss (Manchester to Miami)
Rachel was a 19 year old student who attended the
Royal Northern College of Music, located in Manchester UK.
Manchester was considered the arts, media, higher education
and commerce mecca of north central England. Bordered by the
Cheshire plain to the south, and the Pennines mountain range
to the north and east. The famous River Mersey ran along the
southern side of Manchester. Rachel was packing for winter
holiday with some of her classmates, to the warm beaches of
Miami Florida, for a week long stay in the sun, far from the
often dreary weather that settled over the UK this time of year.
Not only was Rachel looking forward to the warm weather and
sunny skies but she was looking forward to meeting up with Daniel.
Daniel was a 40 something musician, beach bartender, handyman,
who lived just outside of Miami. They had met on a poetry website
seven months prior, and had established a warm friendship.
They communicated almost daily threw emails, chat sites
and through poetry exchanges. Their friendship had become
more romantic in the last month or so, talking that silly love talk
that new lovers used, and Rachel finished off every meeting with the
initials AKTY at the end. AKTY stood for angel kisses to you,
as Daniel liked to refer to her as his angel. they both were very
excited about the chance to see each other, face to face.
Rachel knew that the majority of Daniels poetry was slanted
toward the romance side, and she knew from their conversations
that he seemed to be educated, gentle and romantic. She was,
they were, both looking forward to spending an evening together,
holding hands,caressing each other, looking into each others eyes,
and..... that first kiss. Kiss kiss kiss kiss
hard rock guitars, lights and smoke
Kiss, that first kiss, this is what, loves all about
kiss, your sweet kiss, makes me go crazy, scream and shout
your kiss, that angel kiss, can't live with out it, you drive me mad
one kiss, just one kiss, from your sweet lips, blows my mind real bad
don't know how I got by before you
never want to try it no never again
my darlin angel I adore you,
since I met you you know i've been
crazy, I've gone crazy, just can't get enuff, of you sweet baby
dreaming, got me dreaming, every night baby, I don't mean maybe
every kiss, like your first kiss, sets me ablaze, you know it takes me higher
another kiss, I want another kiss, turn the flames up like a funeral pyre
don't wanna try to get along without you
never want to try it no never again
my darlin angel I adore you,
since I met you been waiting for that first kiss
Gomer LePoet
Apr 12, 2010
Apr 12, 2010 at 8:58 PM UTC
Seeing we never found gay fairyland
(Though still we crouched by bluebells moon by moon)
And missed the tide of Lethe; yet are soon
For that new bridge that leaves old Styx half-spanned;
Nor ever unto Mecca caravanned;
Nor bugled Asgard, skilled in magic rune;
Nor yearned for far Nirvana, the sweet swoon,
And from high Paradise are cursed and banned;
-Let's die home, ferry across the Channel! Thus
Shall we live gods there. Death shall be no sev'rance.
Weary cathedrals light new shrines for us.
To us, rough knees of boys shall ache with rev'rence.
Are not girls' ******* a clear, strong Acropole?
-There our oun mothers' tears shall heal us whole
5.1k
Sing a song of Tajmahal
a fine nazm or a ghazal
Of this landmark for lovers
Ah, a lover's edifice
Complete with medieval bowers
It's a Mecca for tourists!
Tis sensational, tis exceptional
tis truly a touristy place.
Watch the shimmer of its magnificent marbled dome
Moonlight or sunlight, it glimmers of imperial chrome
It's ironical then
that though Indian-Arabian I am
I haven't yet been to this touristy place
It is truly as they must say, a lover's shrine
a place where hearts duly incline
They find it steamy
I find it dreamy
Oh, I've got to see for myself this touristy place.
Each of the marbled minarets
conceal such romantic secrets
for lovers to silently explore
to admire and to adore
A place human lovebirds couldn't ignore.
Ah you've got to visit this touristy place!
Two famed lovers lie in the legendary vault below
and the stream too it has a romantic flow
It's a lovers haven and paradise on earth
Even dead passions there undergo a rebirth
Ah, rekindle my love for you in this touristy place!
Extol I may this awesome imposing edifice
A greed for pure love is perhaps better than avarice
Löng live the legend of Shah jahan and Mumtaz mahal
Long live love and love like a Moghul
so forever we have this monumental grace!
Yeah take me my luv to this touristy place!
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 2:11 AM UTC
I'm making a pub pilgrimage,
A malted Mecca trip;
I'm leaving all I love at home
Crusading with the Picts.
I'll be alone with all my thoughts,
It's what must needs be done,
To keep the demons off.
Publicans meet me on the steps,
On Sundays by the side;
This trip of three thousand miles
May **** should I survive.
My altar's elbow worn,
The finest oaken wood;
I'll climb the stairs on knees,
Hear bells, raise cups of cheer.
There's games of chance,
Some romance,
With songs and several fools;
It has trappings of Canterbury
In pubs all called O'Tooles.
There's Highland mead,
And broken bread,
With harps from inner rooms,
I'll have dispirited spirits
And revel inside tombs.
My cave awaits on my return,
It's dark and hard and cold;
But I know the light's within my sight,
If I move this granite stone.
I'll bring with me a scapula
To make those visions stop,
The relics that I sought,
Those demons of a sot.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 9:16 AM UTC
~~¤~~
I heard your cry Oh, Paris
From the hundred of bodies that fell on your ground
I heard the sobbing of your neighbors
I saw the tears of all the eyes watching you
You were trying to move on from the tragic Charlie Hebdo Attack
But here you are again-
Broken and bruised
And my heart is breaking
My tears are rolling down my face
As I utter a thousand why's
But...
I still hear the weeping from afar-
Palestine and Syria are still mourning for the death of their children,
India Heat Wave that killed more than two thousand,
The hundreds of migrants killed in sinking ship in the Mediterranean Sea,
The TransAsia Airways Flight 235 Crash in Taiwan,
The Germanwings Flight 9525 Crash into the French Alps,
The Earthquake in Nepal,
The Amtrak Train Derail in Philadelphia,
The Warehouse Explosion that killed a hundred in China,
The Reporter and Cameraman Killed live on TV,
The Refugee crisis,
The Hajj Pilgrimage Tragedy near Mecca
The series of calamities and tragedies in different parts of my dear Philippines-
The families of thousands of dead people are still in agony
These tragedies around the world
Gave those places the deepest cuts upon the bellies of the mothers
Wounds that connect to the hearts
And create scars that might be fresh until now
The world is in pain
And here are my tears again
I am praying for the world
Can we listen to those cries and open our hearts?
Let us pray for you, dear Paris
And for other places wich are still in misery
Let us pray for the world.
~~¤~~
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 6:18 AM UTC
This Love Song seemed like a safe place to unpack my ****
But a safe place is where Lyrics go to die.
And this is Not a Song.
and it starts like this. all the time.
II
i fella sleep in a widdle boat and told a seagull that i was having a dream
about talking to seagulls and he was astonished to have the pleasure of meeting a boat
that had the good sense to plug the hole with a poet…. because they never wake up
and they do so with extreme prejudice. that simply screams Resident.
In Fact!
He’d never even seen a boat. So there’s THAT. I offered Seagull “ The Cool -Side of The Pillow. “
So I could sit upright for a moment and jot this down. He was like “ What’s a pillow? “
And I had no idea what it was that brushed against my legs
but It was There. then It was Gone. when i stopped using the metaphor.
I was treading a fathom
of pixie dust and transgender proto-gods, all cuddling in a huddle of metaphysics
as adorable as a radioactive abrupt
stop.
III
Ah yes… someone was cooking bacon… and bacon is sleep’s kryptonite. so the dream was a wrap.
and i had a bird’s nest woven from the silk of my discarded cocoon. codename: Chrysalis.
and my mouth was dry. a stubborn dry that follows a deluge of phantasmagoria
on a Futon that is a God to cat hair. My Futon is Oblique and Omnipotent.
Apparently.
Uber Mecca for Cat Hair. I fell asleep on that.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 7:59 PM UTC
at 9, my father took me to confess.
i crossed myself and stepped into
the closet-like space.
"bless me, father, for I have sinned."
at 10, my mother took me to church.
baptist. southern. the pastor spit venom from his pulpit.
they taught me to fear god
and live my life through christ.
at 15, my friend took me to her synagogue.
i sat with her family as her sister
recited text from the torah.
we celebrated her bat mitzvah. held her high on a chair.
at 17, my best friend took me to mosque.
we washed our feet and dressed in tunics
and prayed towards mecca
and recited words from the koran. we were placed behind the men.
the same pattern was played,
over and over again.
swear to whatever god owned
that shrine
that you would give your life for him.
and make no mistake, because by divine reason, it is a him.
and always,
always,
always,
get down on your knees.
and pray.
i remember thinking every ********* time
that prostitutes and disciples
seemed awfully alike.
and then i thought,
"they're probably right about god being male."
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 6:58 PM UTC
Zen monks sit quietly on
stern pillows of effervescent soul.
I do not,
My patchwork pillow is filled with
styrofoam-- artificial.
Hasidic Rabbis rub their tired pious books
adding more wear marks from years worrying
which appear like a foreign tongue on the cover.
My book is full of yellowed, empty pages
sitting, dust-ridden on a abandoned shelf.
The head of the Shiite rests against solid stone
The penitent countenance like a mirror of Mecca.
My forehead bears only the reddened mark of my forearm
from the vibrant narcolepsy of life.
The Atheist sits in the coffee house
lecturing the disinterested Baristas
about the tomfoolery of religion.
I sit alone,
nodding sagely,
sipping wine that tastes
flat against my tongue.
What does a depth of spiritual belief offer?
There is an unwritten, unquantifiable,
essence that belief gives the human.
A depth of meaning, like
a shot of penicillin to a case of chlamydia.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
oh such few words are minded,
no bravery apart
from the homosexuals
as skeletons in the chronicles of Narnia
being discovered among
the skeletons of tyrannosaurus rex
making a bed with its wheelchair able
paws - and the flag of the Cymru
fire-breathing turtles before excavation
and the myths of the mandarin too;
now tell me the sub-human plot with the
Normans when the anglo-sax reigned
to teach me to unlearn english
to avoid assimilation,
like you taught your former colonial subjects
to integrate and to alievate keeping assimilation:
which you taught to unlearn the mother's
tongue and learn a discrimination
against furthering the multi-cultural project...
which you taught to integrate and
keep at loss a sacred soul of never assimilating
akin to jew...integrate i must,
assimilate i care not for should i be totally
albino or asserting bleached with peace:
albino oder beteuern gebleicht mit frieden.
integrate i must to utilise the coinage
but to assimilate i must turn into a reggae african
with roots in the Caribbean than the Ivory Coast...
and god willing i will not claim to be
an arab's brother to settle karma over
uplifting the curse over Mecca with ibn Saud's
clock-tower; burn!!!
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 11:07 PM UTC
Nashville was never your home
you spoke of Dublin, as if
it were your mecca, your promised land
and now you can run through it's streets once more
Give Anais a kiss for me, you're home
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 4:37 PM UTC
god is
one
but we worship
a black box
in mecca
god is
one
but we think
you deserve
to die
god is
one
but we worship
a black box
in mecca
i choose a
veil for i'm
a willing slave
we cry just like
you & i
god is
one
but we worship
a black box
in mecca
you
pierce the
wrong veil
but we are not
people behind
the cries of
my brothers
silenced
god is
one
but we worship
a black box
in mecca
you laugh at
a tongue twisted
around your words
but ours still
sound crass
on yours
god is
one
but we worship
a black box
in mecca
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 7:01 AM UTC
This world is like a moving tapestry
Vivid
The spirit behind creation and artistry
Kaleidoscopic
Beyond the two dimensional replica
The amaranthine beauty
Eyes of mecca
So many living pieces moving in and out, to and fro
The omnipresence
Sometimes you can see the universe breathing
The quintessence
At other times you can feel it's heart beat
The omniscient rhythm
The peripherals of our pineal show that
Without brain schism
Our intuition guides it
When we listen
Each thread lined with color after color
In time they glisten
Dyed and placed in felicitous lay
Destined for unification
To create a mastery of life
Orderly amalgamation
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 3:27 AM UTC
when i heard about it,
when i heard of “free art:”
i thought of free bread and wine,
and celtic sirens,
i laughed though... you made the earth
so ******* boring we all wanted to become astronauts.
when art became free we tried to moralise
drinking wine (as a portent of richness)
and eating bread (as a portent of the russian revulsion),
i bought my art.. and waited for the ones who
discouraged it complaining buying their bread “well fed.”
the celtic sirens hung on though, singing softer and softer
but more prone to the acid tongues dragging the democrats into
a hope of kings and village kindred elders,
but i still didn’t hope for free artistry that was akin to circus,
caged the gypsy have i?
i have, but i did not warrant free food or free aquas of variation,
i simplified freeing the demands with the demands freed into excess,
well... if i were kingly i’d still have provided free bread and wine
rather than music and the curbing the excesses of lyricists;
making music free just discouraged all originality, all creativity,
it just became a realism of a struggled acting -
i feel cheated having missed the antics of britannia in
the 1960's and '70's like it was greek and roman without
the epileptics of watching a documentary on trans-sexualisation
of brazilians and ******** disco to gag on an excess of flashy lights
just to sell lipstick... and have these quasi-epileptic shivers
without having an opposing opinion to counter the freely stated & fluxed.
i guess my convulsions were due to the fact that the men
didn’t call it either homosexuality nor trans-sexuality,
and that i was actually looking at two dodos talking, meaning
i was seeing the extinction of the human race through the ****
meaning i was watching the knights templar idol, baphomet,
realised 2000 years after the crucifixion in that crown of thorn dreams,
perfected in thailand... of all places;
that actually beats the identification of ibn saud as the dajjal,
moving further east of mecca than riyadh and
the assassination attempt within the framework of muhammad’s hadith of ‘no entry’ into mecca by the dajjal.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 11:17 PM UTC
*
Without YOU, I'm nothing
Without YOU, my world doesn't exist
**If you're there, I am alive
If I find you, I find myself**
You are my Mecca masjid (Muslim)
You are my Vatican church (Christian)
You are my Jerusalem synagogue (Jews)
You are my Banaras temple (Hindus)
You are my Gaya stupa (Buddhist)
You are my Khajuraho Parsvanath (Jains)
You are my Amritsar Gurudwara (Sikhs)
I wander to every place of worship
I read every scriptures and pray
I am pathos of your LOVE
Chanting your name
This is my only purpose of living
Only when you've gone away
I've understood my LOVE for YOU
Don't break the thread of LOVE
I'm delicately tender in your LOVE
*
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 11:51 PM UTC
Today for the first time in a very long time I went to a memorial.
To me, memorials are very special.
They are time capsules
Links to men and women I'll never know,
Who's faces I'll never see
Who's stories I'll never hear in their voice.
That's what they are.
For the men who lost their lives on December, 7, 1941
They put your name on a wall.
I've shed tears for each of you.
I don't know why but coming to read your names,
It felt as if destiny played a hand.
Perhaps in a past life I was one of you.
But in this life I'm a coward and I could never live up to your expectations.
I'll come back.
I'll come back to each of you.
To my Mecca
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 9:39 PM UTC
In the streets of Mecca
and Medina I pray I get lost.
Searching my way whole
day in heat I will exhaust.__
Who knows after being
much tossed and shoved.
I may find the stepped paths
of my Mustafa beloved.__
I'll garland and decorate those
paths with flowers nice;
As those will be paths of
success leading to paradise.__
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 7:29 AM UTC
With fingers holding the tail end of a cigarette (or the head end)
I wonder how my Daddy feels, when he imagines killing people who are different to him
cigarette companies make cigarettes
and he generates poison, and ejects it with his words.
His poison existed in my blood and in my soul for years
Mecca, Baghdad, colour, allah; the person, the religion.
I hated them all, with the power that Daddy hates cigarettes and of course the others
What gives him the right to hate all of those things, and tell me what I should and shouldn't hate.
I lift the cigarette up to my mouth and enjoy the thought of my bubble wrap lungs popping
I cough and it's rubbing it in my Daddy's face
While you're scheming dropping bombs, and becoming what you hate
I'm dying, slowly and laughing at the morbid thought
that while your hate won't **** anyone; your crippled manhood.
My hate for you is killing me
inhale, exhale.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 9:04 AM UTC
Apply plastic to my face; I can't embrace
the way I look, the way I waste.
My God is dead, because I erased him.
I am trapped in a daydream nation.
Rip the cords out of celebri-babes
I wanna be the end of a film
I wanna fade...
...Fade in,
My God is your God and I declare you're full of sin
Hollywoodland is my mecca and it's all that I am
Give me a star on the walk instead of the sky
I don't wanna live, I just don't ever want to die
Hollywood, Holly would
give up her soul
if Oscars and movies could
make her whole.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 8:43 PM UTC
Mystical Priest,
Come into mind,
Suffocate it,
And blame the truth(s)
We never disagree
Never comitting,
The Parade,
Of darkness, and solitude
We move, day by day
We learn,
From book to books
From story to stories
I want to meet
That priest
On the great journey,
Of life
Of value(s)a-investment
Surprisingly,
The Priest
Is me,
Myself.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 10:20 AM UTC
It's as easy as, 1, 2, 3.
Understandable as A, B, C.
Undesirable as, Don't Take Me.
A simple ditty,
So listen, Kiddie,
There's no singing in the grave.
No foot tapping, finger snapping,
Lip smacking music where you're going;
But don't be in a hurry to get going
To a place where you're a gonner.
You won't be chatting with a Brahma,
Discussing laws with ancient Moses,
There's no sitting Buddha posing,
You ain't in blissful Nirvana.
You'd be in heaven in Havana.
There aren't virgins waiting;
No loaves and fishes baking;
No bells ringing,
No Mecca wailing,
No roads paved with gold.
I miss those stories I was sold.
Whatever it is that ails you...
Whatever it is that ails you...
Whatever it is that ails you...
Was it us who failed you?
Stay a while, don't leave yet,
You'll find nothing you expect,
But you won't remember,
And you won't forget.
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 3:44 PM UTC