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Concrete Eden

Written one early morning in Lancaster, UK.

Buskers on the corner
They're making up the lines
As poets of the new age
They notice all the signs

Politics deaf, dumb, blind
And punters on the street
Hear, feel, seeing nothing
Cocooned inside concrete

Playing fancy melodies
The poets find the key
A way to tame the jungle
And set the lyric free

They've found their concrete Eden
They are the first and last
The first born to a new world
By children of the past

 

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