Who has seen what the skies’ like

I think this morn is tomorrow

We’ve been expecting tomorrow

And now we have it today

They say how can we know but a few

We were told that the skies will be blue

That then they shall fly in the sky like sparrows

But still there would be pikes

That threatens our play

That the pikes will make us cry

That the pricks are blunt and shy

But we have no soles for our soles

Yes no leather and bread for our bowls

But they gave us hope

That then we will meet the pope

That he will help us cope

But the Pope is not here to follow

We shall follow her trail

On her tracks cos we can’t meet the train

We missed it in the rain

While we wallowed in the mud we made ourselves.

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