Khwub Secars

To enjoy most of nothing but define the sadness that surrounds daily incompetence, its definitely a challenge. The night fading into a blurry combination of colour and cash. Lackadaisically as the swift shift of a mixer flexes, the new boy finally deadens any chance of a hearing a decent beat. A thick white paint has been used to try and cover bad carpentry but without a craftsman to blame, you’re left framed for this drifters poisonous launch pad. It’s somehow never enough to provide a less than pretentious view of the barn dance of the century. Poorly painted dull metal spikes warn intriguingly, as though presenting danger as royalty. You may be grateful it works the charm, but often your charm is intimidating and so too much. You’re missing a resistant companion. Saying yes all the time can land you in trouble. Trust as it would seem then is not trustworthy, for only knowing its broken will you know you had it in the first place. Now its somewhere hardly recognizable, I used to be the king and now I’m the pauper. Something that ought to change, but the only thing that has changed is management. The memories held dear but had to end soon.

To speak ill, the business might as well have rickets for now it stands on one puny leg. I dread the day that the dire become necessary.

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