This place is sublime,
Bares, lifeless, and evil,
It's a small town hell,
Every thing here is clowned,
The same smell of grass every where you go,
With these nonexistent perfect kids,
I cease to ever see,
The same grass mountain's next to the two hundred replicas of itself,
A sky with clouds but they never move,
Frozen in fear of anything new,
Most exciting thing here is fishing before three am,
Till six when it's time to sleep,
The second is the bugs that try to eat you alive,
Making the skin look like a lumpy potato,
Sleep here is impossible to reach,
Wishing this place was a bad dream,
But its way to duel to be,
Not abstract lovely a nufe to be,
Place dis-aper,
Bring me back to the fanatic,
And craziness of my real live.
