It's Not True Rufus, Don't Listen to the Hat - This Town Needs Guns

Have some faith

Don’t you know that this is not a race

And we are not contenders now

So ask questions like

Which truth is the truth with which I chose to define myself

And bare all my insecurities?

These cobbled streets and stone walls can’t contain us

This knot in my stomach

Is the result of all I envy

And the route to my redemption

It reminds me that I am a mess of bone and tissue

And a slave to my own ambitions

We can only be ignored for so long

So let’s get back on that horse, take the road less traveled and get away from

this town of claustrophobic creativity.

Let’s start afresh, leave the embers of

this burnt out city to settle on the stunted seeds in which it has poured its

misplaced trust

Let’s see from a different perspective the sun, the sky, the moon, the stars,

the sea, sand, trees, clouds, train lines, road signs, motorways and slip

roads, postcards and dreamy days, winter’s end and spring beginnings,

window seats, cats eyes caught in corner glances, late night adventures,

firesides and the dirt grey contrast of the high rise with lights calling us

home;

an orange glow snaking its path across green fields, towns and cities.

Drawing lines across maps to open up new sights, sounds, and the infinite

possibility of the horizon