Waffle wrapped waffle

And the moon rose, over an open field. And her face pressed tight and all around the night sang out like cockatoos. Watch out for the hitman. Can't take the smell, can't take the noise. Skyscraper, I love you. In the jungle, the mighty jungle. Everybody comes to a party, expecting a miracle. Who's laughing now? What the world needs today, a little spiritual healing. Wake me up low with a fever.


Excuse my ramblings. You know it's very easy to write when there's something on my mind. Or when something is going on. Or when I'm happy about something. Or when I'm confused. Or afraid. Or alone. Or excited. But what about the other 85% of normal time?


Boring!


That's right now. I could waffle on about some bullshit that no-one will want to read about. And for what? And for what? Or should I say; And for who?


Do my posts have a style? Is there some unique-ity about me? About what I write, or even about how I write? Or am I a Sergeant shmo?

If we could take the time to lay it on the line
I could rest my head
Just knowin' that you were mine
All mine
So if you want to love me
then darlin' don't refrain
Or I'll just end up walkin'
In the cold November rain