Rainy days
I'm blue in so many ways
Without sun

Through this spatterd streaky pain,
lies the sodden colosus of red brick mire;
where the flatuent, tin can charriots,
champion the stokers of societies fire.
...
The blinkerd vision of the suited rat
seeks ways to feed his bloated God,
and Orwell's proles, the latent hope,
wish only to go where others have trod.
...
-Scott-
.
Excuse my manipulation of tense with 'trod', I just could not
find a suitable rhyme so I cheated!-Scott.
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It's allowedl; called Poetic License. You get it with your Driver's License! - Herman
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some choice lines in there Scott, i really like this one...fallon