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Friday, 16 December 2011

Taking stands

Is it, far from me to say, what it is to say 
Am I not to hold, my own to assert 
When the need arise, to establish contentions  

And voice displeasure, on conditions 
Would you not want to know 
And in that sense, that way 

Avoid recourse of discourse  
Where broken vases can  never truly 
Be put together again, on mantelpiece 

It would fool no eye 
Not even that of the blind 
It would fool no eye 

Who would pretence be to please 
Desolate with sieving  anger, insanity of enragement 
Wretchedness of truth with identity 

Left hollow to discard wet currency 
Who would pretence be to please 
Holding wet currency to trade 

Tell me, it is far for me to say 
What it is to say
It is far me to say 
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