Every day is life between walls,
The sun rises in the East and Sets in the West,
In Australia, the water swirls down the plughole in a different way,
In America, there are poisonous spiders hiding in your bathroom,
In Europe, there are pornographic books on your bookshelves, (and literature on the floor)
In the Arctic, you measure and calibrate the scientific fridge so nothing grows,
In Asia, you eat like a queen for rupees that wouldn’t buy chocolate back home,
In Pangaea, you set up an easel and capture the Mediterranean landlocked.
In Wonderland, you extract the DNA from the mushrooms and dream evil plans,
Between these walls is myspace that won’t be mine forever and the colours reflect insanity back to me.
Maybe it’s the lighting, maybe it’s what’s in my head, but when I look around I feel half dead.
These walls of Victorian lineage stood firm during two world wars and almost a third, well a War On Terror anyways.
And Kings and a Queen or two have come and gone too.
Between these walls is me and my conduit to the world via Visa and Wi-Fi.
Will it bring the world to me?
If I build it will you come to me?