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auto writing

whaddo i want?
i wanna be an adult when i grow up.
when do i wannit?
when i wake up.
well, give me half an hour
to open my eyes
and prise myself from where i lie.
whaddo i want?
jus’ to plod along
and write rubbish rhymes and songs.
to smoke spliffs but not bongs.
i don’t want much.
jus’ more than i’m due.
sitting here stoned i appear confused.
peppered with apathy this pathetic poet.
apathetic poet
a pathetic poet
a prophetic poet this beast of a false priest of his own fleeced flock.
i know what we are and are not.
we are here for fun
where there are highs there are lows
my soul is stupid.
it knows what to do.
find the middle line there’s so much to lose.
everything to gain if i play the game of the sane.

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