Thursday, June 02, 2016

681 american pies

The holes popping out so fast
On a straight road it can be seen
The people listen minds in remote
Listening to the 681 American pies

The people wish it will go
Line it up in their homes
It will be a magical story to tell
As they look at the popping holes

The people get nothing
The wishful thinking evaporates
Like a dream in the magical world
681 American pies diverted elsewhere

The popping holes staring at them
When rainfall filling up the holes
The dancing lines never last
The people realize they have to pay

There is nothing on their homes
The holes grow many in their eyes
Where is the 681 American pies?
It lies somewhere living in quiet time

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