Promised Land

By
More by this author
Sitting, staring into space,
A line of drool runs down my face
Eyes closed tight, head in the sky,
Far away I want to fly
To the sun, to the moon
on the whispers of the noon
Fly me away, Mr. Man
To the parking lot, my promised land





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback