I mentioned to myself in my paper journal today, that I only seem to find the time to write about things, when they aren't happening. When exciting events are swirling around my head, who has the time to sit down, think about them, and commit them to pen and paper, keyboard and computer screen? Not me, it seems
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I suppose what I was lamenting were the sort of people who end up with a life where they never feel as though they can spare the time to consider laying around listening to tunes productive. Poor creatures.
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Be them new Romans
Dont envy them my friend
Be their lives longer
Their longer lives are spent
Without a love or faithful friend
All those things they have to rent
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