Men at Work
We walk through these
Musical moods, holding the notes
Of everyman’s hopes
Slivers of sunshine
Divide our shadows
Into queuing quavers
Her leavened voice to our side
Slithers and slides
Through the heavy air
Naked is our core
A collection of sparks
Lit by glowing music motes
Inevitably, our heart strings
Are rooted in this land of
Enlightened enthusiasm
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