There is a street in London called Stanhope
Through which I wandered yesterday alone
It ripped me up and hung me from a rope
Some people live and die with hearts of stone.
At times it seems the world's only despair
But maybe that's just me losing control
To feel a single thing you have to care
And be allowed to have some heart and soul.
I guess I'm glad that I could stand and feel
Some empathy for all my fellow man
We all have different lives and that's the deal
We enter into when we join the plan.
But now I'm back in my garden again
Just writing words with my electric pen.
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