The Writers' Circle

Who am I when I'm washed and dressed? It's all I seem to hear. Different from the world and it's best, I'm the world's worst, it's clear. Who am I when I'm washed and dried? Boy I wish I knew. If I could count the times I've died I'm sure I'd startle you. Who's the man in yellow shoes making sure they're clean? Wears them to get on the news to tell us where he's been. He's a man with paper smiles, just like all the rest, keeps the different in his files, must be one of the best.

The world is good and bad it is happy it is sad, it has health and it has wealth and it has fame. The bad they live so long, the good they die so young, but when they're washed and dried they're all the same.

Who's that girl with the made up face, searching for her soul? Joining in the human race to fill another hole? Who's the woman in the red neck tie walking by her side? I'm certain if she was a guy the first would be her bride. In the mirror is a man I knew but he won't look at me. Just reflects the things I do, stands begging to be free. What's the time I ask the girl, she answers with a smile, time's irrelevant in her world, your age is your dial.

The world bears love and hate, peace always comes too late, it has rch and it has poor and it has lame. The love is oh so rare the hate is always there but when they're analysed, they're all the same.

Who's that child at Maggie's door, with shorts down to his knees? Just the type to make yes soe but always saying please. Who's his mother, where's his dad? Do you know his name? Why does no-one understand we all begin the same? Who am I when the cat come's home? It's all we ever hear, preaching truths where'er we roam but no-one seems to hear. Time will help us to pull through so many times it's heard. Jesus man I'm telling you, we want deeds not words.

The world has big and small, people stand and people fall, it has people walking round without a name. Smalll boys will soon be men but they will fall again for when we all grow old we're all the same.

Who's that girl at number ten standing proud and tall? Sending goodwill to all men then hiding as they fall? Where's the victim of her ways? I see him in the cold, he's the kind of man who says I'm glad I'm getting old. So it's christmas time once more children sit and pray. Will it be just like before though daddy's gone away? Watch the mother gently weep when she has to say, little children gently weep for daddy died today.

The world had smiles and tears it bears happiness and fears it has pain and war and death but who's to blame? Most wishing they were rich, some saying wwealth's an itch for vagabonds and kings die all the same.