Thursday, July 24, 2008


High and fly,
our dreams come by,
unlike a pig sty,
where i see flies,

of all lies,
intoxicate the skies,
full of alibies,
which goes all i buy,

if truth is a labor,
are lies a minimum wage?,
contemplating souls of thy,
on a one way street,

In a tale called truth,
Its just a dew,
none make sense,
fabricated, we go.

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