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Untitled MAG
She sits there trying to write while
Transferring her Pink Floyd C.D. onto a tape.
She uses simple words filled with meaning
She can't rhyme
But she's trying.
Her dad was reading last Monday's paper
Before he started reminiscing about his own Pink Floyd days.
She wonders where all of the money has gone
While peeling away at the sole of her shoes.
Her dad takes a long drag of his Marlboro
She thinks about the chaos of the world
But that has already been written about.
So she sits and thinks of all her sins
She is not sorry for.
Her paper still blank.
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