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Array
(
[sid] => 135004
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Westcountry Guilt
[time] => 2007-06-07 08:05:23
[hometext] => I made an absolute mess of things on Sunday night, making a very strong case for a return to my previous teetotal ways. At least I could turn it into something positive - a poem. One thing I will say is that this is bound to be misinterpreted.
[bodytext] => I’m being trampled by the white horse on the hillside Providence hands me a broom but I freeze I couldn’t sweep up the broken glass from the shop window All those imagined conversations Looks of concern on the station platform Think I’d be much safer trapped in the computer screen The broken glass remains on the pavement The broom is no longer within reach And I don’t even have the cash for a new one Now I’m trying to draw inspiration From a man who has blood on his hands Not because of the broken glass from the window Now the dogs are pouring over the hillside I’m trampled by the white horse on the hillside Carry on like this and ten years from now I’ll be alone in a lighthouse clinging to my postage stamps Still believing I can change the world with a notepad and a head full of dreams I wasn’t left behind I left my self behind Reminders are everywhere I leave post-it notes everywhere Carry on like this and one of these days There’ll be no more broken glass left to sweep up For the windows will all be boarded up Maybe some of them already are I’m getting kind of sick of people calling me Jesus [comments] => 2 [counter] => 172 [topic] => 32 [informant] => DaveXerox [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 2 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => SadPoetry )
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