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01 April 2008 @ 12:11 pm
I'm Swinging Low  
I'm swinging low
like midnight palm tees 
on Santa Ana Street 
in May

upon the heaps
of deceased and walking dead
hags and rogues
I lay

ghettoed children 
grabbing mother's milk
but mom's hit the bloody streets 
to their dismay

I'm swinging low
I'm rolling quaries in
my quaint illumination
30 seconds from the sun

A feeling I can actually feel
a welcome sweat when angered 
rebels against a solid 
17 years numb

I'm swinging low 
I left my mind in a
cardboard rain guard 
some shipwrecked man 
calls home

And ventured out of 
crooked alley ways 
pierced pungent with poverty 
to home

I'm swinging low
although I'm home away from
Moonshine Murphy's 
the howls still seem to roam

I'm swinging low 
like illegal refugees 
zigzagging the desert
as absorbed sunbeams 
in the sand

Crawling low beneath
the brazen earth 
tunnelling for passage
to the promised land

Off to the Santa Ana 
shack towns, equipt with 
midnight palm trees
for May's demand

Low and behold 
Where's the diffence repeatedly told?
Everywhere I go I'm there 
Anywhere I go I'm swinging low