“It’s so hot and bright, it’s way too sunny, and I am not waring my shades!” Gun Roswell
Under the burning sun
The burning sensations on the pale skin
Some say, that being here, like this, is a sin
Stripped down to the very basics
A layer of thin cloth strapped around the slick
Oiled up body now splayed for all to see
On this sandy and none too secluded sea
Yes, it is again that time of the year
When finally able to shed all that fear
Of wearing nothing but a skimpy outfit
Even if on a far away private beach
But the shame of it all has been stalled
As the sun beckons under its power to fall
No matter, if someone wants to run an tatter
A tale of the odd ones out there, under the sphere
Of the golden and oh so bright light
Laying there, all days on end, their times spent
In dull motionless moments, without moving
The angry mockers their constant torment
But they do not care, of the long stares
Because this is the time for nothing
The nothing of the very moment spent
Under the lazy sun, without talking
Without thinking, simply laying, eating
Drinking, the troubles away, because hey!
It’s that time of the year!
Rantings Of A Third Kind 