Greetings from the Hill.
67/78 Blue Skies NE5/10 0708/1744 60%H
"If the weather ain't perfect, and home again,
another year and getting better, what more
could an oldman want...eggs benedict?",
smiles the madone feeling good.
A normal day in paradise and chores done,
cats fed on the balcony with xmas treats,
floors swept and plants watered,
the studio without a guest.
A good day to think about the year and
home improvements with that crippling cost.
"Who the fuck pays for that shit, materials...
wood, concrete, steel, bolts, bars and screws
and the tools...SantafuckingClaus, Hohoho,"
snorts the oldman coming to life.
The uncertainty of home ownership increases
with age and four year plans, white house terms
a sort of middlemanagement calendar to ending
whatever is unfinished, a probable blame accounting.
"Ah, yes, a change of power, leadership, control,
sound familiar...close to home, still got a bed,"
inquires the voice in the Hall.
Barefooted and barechested strolling with the dog,
a wagbag in hand for the xmas turds,
sun staight above at noon and cool concrete,
quiet empty streets in paradise.
The idiot train rattles by fully loaded with gawkers
travelling to fast to see the beauty,
the driver telling historic lies to worried
bouncing tourists without seatbelts.
Another attraction morphed into the ultimate.
"Sell everything....At least Once a Day,"
roars the madone.