I was a kid,
and I had dreams,
of flying to space,
in a rocket machine,
but look at me now,
all tired and worn,
since I made a baby of my own.
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I was a kid,
and I had dreams,
of flying to space,
in a rocket machine,
but look at me now,
all tired and worn,
since I made a baby of my own.
RIP John: Incidentally, you were innocent.
No money STOP Kill her STOP
I watch my dead body burning
Breakfast never came, I left home
In the beginning God was stillborn
[None of which, I’m sad to say, are a patch on Hemmingway’s effort:
“For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” – you can read a lot more examples in this article: Very Short Stories]
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