A Days Work
I'm in here!
I'm in here!
Let me out,
they're off their heads,
I tell you,
let me go - free...
I want to fly away from here,
from all of them,
let me go!
words mottled with spittle,
Christ, I need your old man,
to sort it out,
sucking the blood and marrow
out of our souls,
They need to feed on trusty
people, like you and me,
and if they cant,
they'll warp you with addiction
burrow right down into the brain,
until you need lawyers, and judges,
and security guards, then newspaper men,
so they can hang you,
and go home...
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Comments about this poem (A Days Work by GRANT FRASER )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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