Hillside building, falling grass. Forest filling, velvet pass. Steplike structure, view commanding. Flatland feeding, homeland breeding. Can we see the years fast ticking, bringing us what will be past? Should I not say of my own land, “I will never build a house”? Human rabbits feeding, breeding, leading, needing normal lives. Bringing, banging, clanging, breathing smoke and soot, THE MAN ARRIVES. Some are thinkers with ideals. Some are thinkers with ideals. Some are running around waving their arms in the air with no idea what they are trying to accomplish here. Electric growing, telecom going deeper and deeper into space. One day coming, all have plumbing. Save us from our frantic pace. Fearful feeling not withstanding. Hillside dream I not abandon. Still I stir this troubled question. Shall I wear my last clean sox? Shall I put them in a box? Should I wear them out? Should I have another stout? When I think I’m only spinning wheels in hopes of slowly pinning down in mind a firm conclusion, how the fuck to live my life… MOTHERFUCKER
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