My Old Holden Astra

24 seven, Eight, Nine, Ten to the second. Heaven ate my pancreas, Please pretend eleven likes me. Twelve times its elapsed, Survival wasn’t even likely. Shelved minds, And a brain collapsed, He forgot the old me. Thirteen days in hells binds, Sustained damage behind waxed out eyes, “Can he even see me?” There’s a bird who abides by a tree, And he sings tenderly just for me. Without a word he refines his tune elegantly, His voice rings out slenderly, Just for me. Just for me and my memories. Chaotic verses full of life and energy, Carefree expressions of a bird so elderly. I’ll just bathe in this melody, The critter could render thee so happily. For the rest of my days, True, True, True. Sure I know the skies are blue, But the sun’s a pale yellow, And the tree shades me from reality's hue. I feel my blissful ignorance is long overdue, My sails cast open, And the winds bellow on through. This’ll take me across the vast ocean blue, And even when my spirit is broken, That old bird's gale will bid my blues adieu. I’ll miss him too, Assuming he missed me in lieu. I’m either a ‘to-nowhere’ travelling magician, Or just a square average citizen. Because what’s a square without his ritalin, A nowhere man, Deaf, dumb and blind, Your average pity city civilian.