Friday, August 18, 2006

Dances and Songs

Every dance holds a bit of dream,
Every song a sacrifice;
Always saying things we say we never mean
Busy -- pretending to be nice.

Every hope carries it's own hell,
Every love the joy of loss;
Always knowing we have more to sell
Bodies -- the breaking of all laws.

And when every image is fractured,
And every word is sad;
Only we can hold to manufactured hopes
Dreaming -- someday we'll be glad.

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