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Date Posted: 19:07:10 03/24/00 Fri
Author: Paul A.S. Rushton
Author Host/IP: dialup.212-140-75-190.tesco.net / 212.140.75.190
Subject: Daily Star (Part Two)

Part Two

This room keeps sighing underfoot,
The fields outside have been in touch,
They weathered storms and beat off frost,
They conquered hail and still they lost;
Their breath, their life inhaled by you,
And exhaled hard to brittle blue,
To rise as steam on icy sheets,
To turn and burn the frost to heat,
Which drips to mourn the child inside,
Who stretched for tailored suits and pride,
He couldn't hope to stay the same,
He stretched too far, the wind she changed,
There's laughter on my windowsill,
We duel the mighty dollar still,
But gauntlets sting your pampered face,
So office blocks, the fields, replace,
And coffee pots they steam the word,
Of coffee-breaking voices heard,
Bogus praise for senseless deeds,
And spurious priorities,
You struggle up the hills of moles,
To ponder on the gaping holes,
Fill them in with fashioned grins,
To keep the sobs and coffee in,
Add the downers to your chart,
And smoke to shield your hollow heart,
'A robot world is not so bleak',
There's freedom of computer speak,
There's breaks to find that tortured sleep,
Or aim your gawpings at page three,
The stars they join the dampened glow,
of streetlights down the Bolton Road,
Stella urinations glint and meet,
Orion on your terraced street,
Scabbarded sword to free his hands,
And drizzled dreams to soak the land.

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