The Hills

November 10, 2009
The country is a prison cell
With silence that screams

Hills stretch to the stars above
Like crashing waves in a stormy breeze
Rolling hills of distant seas

Left alone with nagging thoughts
And wining whining winds
wanting waiting wishing
to escape the monster within

The country is a prison cell
with walls of blooming bliss

The wind is sweet
inviting you in
Like a hidden devils kiss

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