If I lived in America I’d be speaking to you from the Pass over. Oh yes the Pass over of the body and resurrection of the soul.

If I lived in America I’d be speaking to you from the Pass over.
Oh yes the Pass over of the body and resurrection of the soul.
You see after witnessing government corruption, murder, suffering deliberately foisted on the nation I would have used up patience by now and exxploded in one fired up ball of flammes using muesli and misspelling to cover any idea, but I don’t live in America.
I can’t go off the set.
I’m condemned to live across the space, the watery place, where the mountains and the birds still sing and flowers herald the spring.
But I would leave a poetic piece of junk in your inbox, you monk across the sea and it goeth like this;

The last sad hour of freedom’s dream
 
And Valour’s task moved slowly by
 
While mute they watched till morning’s beam
 
Should rise and give them light to die
 
There is a world where souls are free
 
where tyrants taint not nature’s bliss
 
If death that world’s bright opening be
 
Oh. who would live a slave in this?   
                
 
Thomas Moore

But that’s just me. You probably have more patience. 

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