Hurled a four letter
From under foul weather
Thoughts that heal matter
Like dead leaves scatter
Confrontations and
Blind reservations
Have all
Been sown

A child’s self chatter
With small feet patter
If we could just let her
Then she will to grow better
Conversations and
Hallucinations
Are all
Born

In the call centre
A rather bored renter
Looks under thick curtain
Of all that’s said certain
Destination spawns
Preparation
Of all
Sorts

(Scratch vocal lines…)