You don't know a thing about their lives. They live where you wouldn't dare to drive. You shake as you think of how they sleep. But you write as if. You all lie side by side. Reader meet author. With the hope of hearing sense. But you may be feeling let down. By the words of defence. He says "no-one ever sees me when I cry". You don't know a thing about their lives. Books don't save them. Books aren't stanley knives. And if a fight broke out here tonight. You'd be the first away. Because you're that type. And the year 2000 won't change anyone here. As each fabled promise flies so fast. You'll swear it was never there. Oh have you ever escaped. From a shipwrecked life?. So safely with your software. Miles from the front line. You hear the way their sad voice sings. And you start to imagine things. Oh any excuse to write. More lies