Untitled MAG

By Unknown, Unknown, Unknown

   She sits there trying to write while

Transferring her Pink Floyd C.D. onto a tape.

She uses simple words filled with meaning

She can't rhyme

But she's trying.

Her dad was reading last Monday's paper

Before he started reminiscing about his own Pink Floyd days.

She wonders where all of the money has gone

While peeling away at the sole of her shoes.

Her dad takes a long drag of his Marlboro

She thinks about the chaos of the world

But that has already been written about.

So she sits and thinks of all her sins

She is not sorry for.

Her paper still blank.





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