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| Category - --Other-- | | One Man - Viewed 419 Times | Matt Bisset
April 17, 2007 |
A man sits alone,
As the world rushes by.
As he slowly reads his paper,
Line by line.
For him there's no hurry,
His life is just fine.
The man is content,
To just take his time.
'Til midnight he sits,
then folds his newspaper.
He'll begin his slow journey,
sooner or later.
He stands and he looks,
At the mess that surrounds him.
The world as controlled,
By impulse, by whim.
By sad little men,
all dressed up in suits.
With there fancy briefcases,
and black shiny boots.
The ones with the money,
are the ones with the power.
While the man he just lives,
takes it hour by hour.
As the man journeys slowly,
to his nice homely flat.
He thinks to himself,
“Now how about that”
“My flat is small,
and not really clean.
But though it be nothing,
quite a lot it does mean”
For the man this is true,
For others not so.
For most money and power,
are how things must go.
Looks and appearance,
corruption, deceit.
Lie, cheat and scam,
just to stay on your feet.
For the world cares to much,
of what others say.
How much sex do you have,
just how much are you paid?
Do you weigh just six stone,
is your waist really thin.
Do you wear loads of makeup,
all over your skin.
Because the world has a view,
that the man cannot stand.
If you see another in trouble,
don't offer your hand.
Laugh at other's misfortune,
put faith in your health.
And do all you can,
to acquire much wealth.
Happiness comes,
with a truckload of money.
No longer do they care,
for the bees and their honey.
Or wide open spaces,
or green open land.
Blue skies and a rainbow,
or a beach and the sand.
Simple pleasures soon gone,
to a place a long way distant.
Once a great jungle,
gone in an instant.
The one man reaches home,
unlocks his front door.
Collapses on the couch,
for his feet are quite sore.
But his heart is joyful,
his soul sings a song.
And his happiness comes,
not from drugs and a bong.
Not from power not from sex,
just a small tuneless whistle.
As he walks to his kitchen,
with his plates covered in gristle.
But yet he is happy,
but to the world he has naught,
how can this be,
with the world's ways he has fought.
He lives in a flat,
with barely no room.
His bank account small,
he lives in the gloom.
For the world laughs at this man,
the man in the flat.
But the man cares not,
he just sits with his cat.
His cat does not judge him,
as the cruel world outside.
His cat sits and sleeps,
lies by his side.
The man turns the box on,
they call a tv.
To see what the worlds horrors,
can bring unto thee.
Another bombed city,
another law suit.
And more fancy men,
with their black shiny boots.
Supermodels walking,
their waists are too thin.
No one looks at their hearts,
but the man looks within.
Sees through the fake exterior,
the make-up and plastic.
And what lies beneath,
is no longer fantastic.
These girls once young,
and happy to boot.
Had their lives ruined with,
just a single photo shoot.
Too much emphasis today,
on the way people look.
You must look like this,
like the girl in this book.
Can no one be happy,
with what they are given.
We all are alive,
its a great chance for livin'.
Care not for the thoughts,
that other's believe.
Just escape from the world,
to a place you can breath.
Clean air fills his lungs,
where this man has been living.
Where every day he is thankful,
for the chance he was given.
To live happily,
in this place that's so pure.
Were appearance and money,
no longer adhere.
So be like this man,
live the way that he lives.
Free from the criticism,
that society gives.
So if you want to be free,
Live your own plan.
Follow this person,
live like ONE MAN. | | © 2007 Matt Bisset |
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