There's so many people behind me,
Watching my every move.
Watching what I watch,
A superstition or pure hatred?
Or neither.
I'm a castaway on this island,
From here only an hour glass
Gives any sense of time,
To the failing youth,
That seem to outrun the
Haggles and the madness.
And all the smoking,
Every single day, never failing,
They are seen outside,
Stuffing smoke deep into their membranes -
And they stand thinking, how
Incredibly intellectual of me
to stand with a rod of tar
Stuck in ones mouth.
it gives off no hint of good impression,
I can see the very trees,
Being choked,
And they usually welcome the evil gasses.
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