Marching
With the blatant crowd,
In a row,
Yearning for, and
Desperately wishing for more
We're looking for a bench,
A bush, or any other means
To help our tongue
Escape
Its ruthless chains.
Clothes smell
And deo-spray makes it even worse.
And we get greedy,
Our wishes are revealed,
And there we are, standing
Free is our thought,
And body likewise,
Our hearing is back,
The glitter in our eyes is gone.
The wind starts blowing,
The bus has stopped,
The blatant crowd is watching
The light heaving
In sight in the entire valley
But their glossy eyes just fail to see
Those two walking, holding hands.
It's you and me.
