The right to sing, the right to play. The right to do the things I feel in my own way. And if you took it all and asked me to pretend, you'd be break… - John Miles Foley

Hold on, it'll take a while.
You can't always be so juvenile.
Hold on while the love we had
loses nothing, could be half as bad.
Waiting for the right time.
You never showed me one sign.
Give me your lifeline,
but don't you give me your sympathy.

The default designation of poetry has become written poetry. That's why we have to prefix the adjective "oral," because the unmodified noun no longer covers anything but written poetry. That's also why we resort to other unwieldy phrases to pigeonhole events and phenomena that our cultural proclivities have silently eliminated from consideration. Thus a "poetry reading" describes a performance (from a published text, of course) before a well-behaved, often academic audience. Thus "spoken-word poetry"—so redundant from a historical perspective—identifies voiced verbal art, verse that is lifted off the page and into the world of presence and experience.

Just another dead end kid.
Can't believe the things I did.
Lots of pretty ladies by my side.
Take it all for Number One.
Wasted days with no harm done.
Always leave tomorrow open wide.
You took me by surprise, now my empty eyes had to realise
that my life wasn't the way I want to be.
No, I'll never change my mind, couldn't be unkind,
love is hard to find,
and I know by now I should say more,
but I have never been in love before.