Dianne and I love each other, we enjoy each others silent company, but we have very few "interests in common." We are both "spiritual people" (she is, and i try to be) but we experience our spiritualities separately and silently and it is only very rarely that one of us will try to communicate his or her insides to the other's outsides. She likes
(
Read more... )
That poem of reminded me of a song by the Manic Street Preachers called Small Black Flowers that grow in the sky
"You have your very own number
They dress your cage in its nature
Once you roared now you just grunt lame
Pace around pathetic pound games
Wanna get out won't miss you sensaround
To carry your own dead to swing your tyre tricks
Wanna get out here you're bred dead quick
For the outside,
The small black flowers that grow in the sky
They drag sticks along your walls
Harvest your ovaries dead mothers crawl
Here comes warden, Christ, temple, elder
Environment not yours you see through it all
Wanna get out won't miss you sensaround
To carry your own dead to swing your tyre tricks
Wanna get out here you're bred dead quick
For the outside,
The small black flowers that grow in the sky
Here chewing your tail is joy"
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment