More Questions Than Answers

I don't know what I'm doing with my life
No one I know does
We just get up and go to work
Write the checks that keep the lights on,
The dishes washed and the coffee hot
On the weekends we retreat to the small warm corners of the world where we can eat, drink beer or tea when the rain falls
The coffeehouses can be our home, last refuge or the pub
Picnics in the park when the lights first come on
The sound of birds the only primal scream we can stand to hear in our busy working lives

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