I will sing your repetitive lines.
Flat screen mentalities and blinkered tellies.
Your trimmed edges, Ford Foci and Flymoed rachitic squares of overindulged lawns.
Your canine dejections and vocal feline rejections.
Your rattling trains almost on time, no-thrill airplanes overhead, Honda Civics tuned by uncivil rebels.
Your alarmingly loud alarms no one cares about.
Your suppressed whispers of depression and claustrophobia.
Your bored destructive youths and drunk aggressive young -at-hearts.
Your peer pressure, and cultural vacuum.
To leave a comment, either login or create a free account.