Lightyears ahead
in the train
of thought


where all the others are
that's where I'm always not


lightyears left
in the process
of heart


please tell me dear
where's the closest
gun from here


hate the sky
when is it my turn
to look fine


just smile
and the rain
it goes away




feel moody when
I'm not suppose to


have a big heated home
and ideal upbringing


with fair meals
and better than most


it's grey and cold
but that's fair I'm told




save Heather Brooke
she's the one
now enjoy this wine
or be alone