Does it ever get better
This feeling of mundane
The dirty dishes and sweeping of floors
These everyday lives lived over and over
A billion times
will there ever be a night free of dreams of you
Free of spinning heads and dizzy visions
I am tired of words
I am tired of the futures
I am tired of racing rats and locking grids
My ankles are stained green from mowing grass
And pulling weeds
Hands dirty from soil
I am happy here in the front yard
Toiling with the land
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