born 3 million years to late
i was born 3 million in the past
rise humble wings from the fertile crescent ash
felt power from facists, broken looking glasses
boys, stow your stashes, from styrofoam masses
walking streets with looks that kill,
dollar bills and cheap thrills
silenced by a flute trill
asking for a portal that opens on endless days
i advise bend not your wings to fit through door ways
(every moment is play)