Foreign Understanding

An angel of seven stations calls to me about Tripoli. I enter in and see a sad sack of bones alive on tv. The next time, same shot, he is dead. I speak of loving things, and of war by tyranny. Skip and see the pendulum in the sand. I relate to hate with a subserviant sweetness, but I know when to stand. Keep your choices to yourself. Know inside and delve in the mist to be free. Lochs of Scottland feed my need to know Nessie upon revue. Nothing stands out around me. I feel my sandles in the sun. The one I need is me. I relate great, but I see the truth of every day in a different way. Physical laws are obeyed around me. The handrails are always in place. Love the cupboard, and free the macaroni. Soft footprints from the outside pool to the locker room are complete every time. Landmines always scared me. Iraqui boys in the 80's. I am here. You all are review of all nations. I work to be amnesty in the every day for the ones who do not get away. I am compassion, they are deceit. It just tells me that I do not want to go there actually. Find the ties. They are all spies. Serious people don't exist. Brutal cruelty is what they whisper behind my back. I hear unconsciously and do not return one day. Find the mandolin and cry to the crescent moon. I will just play the piano in my sleep.