The brickle brackel of yester years
come sneaking into the lawn
And with the foreign matter here
We'll be wishing to be gone

And the mighty sun beats upon our backs
with grunts and groans to spare
It's pretty hard to fake a noise like that
As if we only lived to care

The rants and pants of today
will soon become the past
And the denim and the wild nights
is the dust that did not last

The principal of metaphors
is to cabable the mind
and with as many words that I could use...
Well shit! I haven't the time!

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