Beyond these slate grey hills and sullen skies My spirit drives its body like a car. And like some tourist, keeps returning where Imagination greets realities.. Shotguns echo across the morning fields: Each pleasure partnered with a little death. Nine tenths of all we know, intangible; The rest, anchored to whims of Mother Earth. Till left alone to deal with everyday, Such consequence as chance may pass my way. I sometimes truly wonder, if it's best To live in ignorance; or to be cursed With an awareness, knowing that full well, There's little I can do to change the world.
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