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Swept Away

Oh, how the rain flows down the mountains of decrepit disability.
Will it wash clean the fangs of yesterday's monuments to madness?
The sword of Damocles dangles as I'm screaming in a bell jar.
The steam rises from the pot filled with the Spaghetti sauce of Love.
Have I been injected with the tainted needles of apathy?

The longing last looks from the dogs of lust keep hanging in my mind like an old yellowed photograph of a happier time that exists in the dark recesses of an abandoned warehouse in a black and white city that knows no shame.
In this battle royal of vice and virtue I am a fugitive from the law of averages.

As I sit catatonic in the graveyard of broken dreams she approaches on her romantic bicycle.
She moves me with her beauty and eases my pain with her Prozac kisses.

John Barry


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