The farm’s gates

The trees will dance in the far off forest
I seem to be of yearning to be there
The clubs and streets are not for me to fare
And frankly they are destitute and shit

A scene of hills so green of pavements less
The earth below my feet of mud and twigs
Is where I’d rather be I will admit
So what of meat in clubs of legs and breasts

Another fiend or foe who knew a friend
And all the while we all try to pretend
Of love and courtesy in every pit
We call our homes oh what a lonely trip

I’d hate to rant and rave oh it’s too late
I want to kiss my love by the farm’s gates

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