My own window would be a large square one, framed in strong, brown wood uninterruptedly crossing into a plus to divide it into four equal quarters. It’s a pretty simple outlook, bright, open and optimistic. And it gives more focus to the outside world than its own structure.
This prison. Walls. No trees.
No where to hide
To be alone or cry.
The jungle burns all through the night,
They say you can see it from the satellite.
Smoke so thick for miles around,
They had to close the airports down.
The green of the jungle turns flaming red
As another cattle ranch gets the go-ahead.
Hamburgers grow where the forests once stood,
Somehow I get the feeling that we’ve all been fooled.