Memory Buffer Full

There isn’t half some rubbish
goes flowing through my mind
If a doctor could examine it
I wonder what she’d find?
I really wish I could channel it,
try to make things better
Or even sit upon a chair
and write my Mum a letter

The taps are always open
it’s like an endless flow
everything get’s washed away
and my ideas never grow
I tried hard to stop and meditate,
like that Buddha fellow
But I didn’t reach Nirvana
and it only made me mellow

Technology isn’t helping
my message box is full
I’m gonna change my identity
and go and live in Hull
Or maybe California
where they say the living is easy
or up a’top a mountain
where the wind is nice and breezy

That at least would clear my head
and help me concentrate
But then I’d miss those little chats
and coffee with my mate
Perhaps I need some time to think
and clear my mental bin
Then with all that space I make,
I could fit more rubbish in

Peter Roe
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