To Busy To Notice That Girl With The Baloon Poem by Arthur George

How am I supposed to be different today?
In this world so full, the eternal game
Options abound, but nothing to do
Ill let it slip im in love with you
My wrists are bleeding from that butter knife
The symbol of home, that forgotten wife
Will you be mine again? I think not
Life is, because its the only one we’ve got

How can I be different in this world today?
Bohemia is lost by the need to pay,
For trivial gimmicks that laden the air
Home soon ill leave, ignite like a flare
I’m too selfish but have nothing to share

I wrote this for you because you know
Its not the same today, the world has grown
Bad like a brown apple left out in the sun
I blame my surrounding but I am the one
The world I seek is out there, but hidden well
Id keep it secret too if id evaded this hell
A place where people walk naked, warts and all
Who soak their matted hair beneath the silver waterfall
And run between trees with harps stings to match
There’s no locked door not even a latch.

I want this to continue, this makes it good
Im not unlucky just wear a black hood
That shuts out the witches, the ugly, the proud
I like not one of you ill say it aloud
Your so insipid it makes me sick to the core
Watching paint dry not going outdoors
When did you last walk somewhere, without someplace to go
You’re a rat in the aqueduct immersed in the flow.