Its 33 degrees in the morning, Jet planes leave their scars, thickened by time, As skylarks sing in perfect rhyme. A zephyr moves the sweet-dewed glade, Orchestrated by nature in a renewed serenade. I sit and watch the day unfold, And think how much I ignore it, Reaping the view of my fields of gold, Alone with you I simply adore it, Freeing my urban soul, Feeding starved cravings of being free, To be able to not control, And allow peace to fill me. Soon I will go back to suburbia, Switch on my computer and deal with the blurs, Time will be constricted and segmented, By the ‘lets do lunch bunch flow chart obssesives’. This place is a cure for company lepers, Who prefer to break the slats of the corporate ladder, Wanting to be good but who kept getting badder. Sell a common man a common dream, Weave the fabric of society in to his seam, And watch him choke upon repetition, For a normal life and the human condition, I will be King of the under achievers, King of the no hopers and non believers, But I will good for a friend, A husband or Father or helping hand to lend, I will not have a leather chair and my name on steel, Saying go to the 6th floor to do the deal, I will be the one who spits in your tea, An average man, Yet I’ll always be me.