Deano my Deano
Yorkshire your mother land
Land of Luv’s
Land of Bread cakes
...
They say that dreams are ours to own
To unravel the conundrums of the conscious
Once lost in the hubbub of the frontal lobes
Set to unravel in the tranquillity of sleep, but for a moment
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Noam, a learned man, a popinjay
They glean these things from what you say
I have my view and I’ll not sway
My learned friend
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The Muse
The mothers milk of creativity
Devine inspiration some might say
Myself, I think another way
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