HOW COME I KEEP CRYING?
Everyone is gone, each one I knew is dead, all those
people, gathered now somewhere, darkened and
cloud-like without me. All I want to do is cry.
Instead, I walk down this leisured street and see
nothing but the glomming of goods and the liars
who steal, who bend lies and call them truth. All
this, while all my friends are gone and each corner
I pass reminds me of someone else. Things were
better then - when I lived among the real and
all those friends were mine. How come I