In the darkness of a smoke infested cafe straight out of the nineties, a corner, spot lit to reveal the fog-like air and a man with lips, not yearning the filter side of a cigarette but dying to speak. And he does.
Pocket Full of Change
Tonight I stand
Not just a man
With all five senses
Firmly gripped in my hand
But also a pocket
Full of change
Not wishing coins
Neatly arranged
Projectiles with fountains
Border lining strange
Tied to my accountabilities
Coward-like really
To leave your choices with myths
Don't you agree?
The change I speak
Brings me closer to my peak
For the boy I was yesterday
Was a boy too weak
Now foundation's concrete
Excuses discrete
My choices are my own
Your opinions obsolete
So engage me will you?
Your assertive views
And I'll try my best
To miss all my cues
I beg your pardon
Please say again
I was quite busy
Counting my change
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