Times of me and times of you and times of once before.

A time of empty people

Sadly moan

An empty swimming pool,

All standing there with their togs on and nowhere to swim.

Times of no sense

And nonsense.

Times of absolute sense.

Hesitance.

Subsistance.

Subservience.

Times - an umpteen times of happy mediums.

Some too hot.

Some too tangy.

Some too tart.

Some too spice.

Some just right.

A lot like that actually.

Its crazy how right they get it most of the time.

Like how I'm right.

Write oh write 'till you can't write anymore and your hand falls off the page.

The muscles yearn for rest.

Sweet sleep and results.

I just think this shit and write it down.

I'm proper proud.

Like look at what's just come out of me now.