In some places, grasses growIn some places, grasses growThough all the world is rotting,Dry roots crumble under concrete bastions of sinStill breeze through ancient tree limbs plays an ambient tuneOne which one might sit and watch the world die to.Yet in some places, grasses grow,Small living worlds erupt in dead universal spaceOld masters call it mold,But there is no fertile land now where so many seeds could be sown.Seasons pass and take the grass, and it will not emerge anew.Rather more will somewhere else be seen.In these times,when green grass you find,Stay and sit before its gone.Ignore old masters blind to the timeswho send you seeking hopeless
Scooba KidLife,Spring,Awakening,A Youth begins to consume it's coccoonHardly prepared for what lies outside,It's blind eyes begin to seevisions of disgusting beauty,Joy is paired with violence,Feeling good when others die,Blissful ignorance to the truth,Unobserved, for it's only play,What a world, when kids play war,And smile as they take their brother's life away,Nothing new is to blame,The television and the radio is producedby those who played cowboys and indianscops and robberswhile their fathers were overseas.The excited minds of torturous childrenGiven the tools of an adultWill pass a gun down to his childrenFar larger than
Sta.sh
