Pushing Through the Market Square (Tomorrow)
(Can you imagine what five years from now
will bring? Which idol will (gallantly) rise?
Brightly sing do the Ray Conniff’s to thou.
Green and red are always upon your eyes.
The way that you talk is miraculous.
(You’re beautiful.) It sounds a bit bizarre.
Nothing weekly can be meticulous
or relevant. But things the way they are,
I find (no) assurance in John Titor
I never thought the future would be fun
for me. There’s no change (left) in the meter.
Are we evolved as to ever be one?
The first croaking frog could have imagined,
cynically, all these words within the wind.)
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