Let us go then, you and I
Yourself and another try
When the wires are beneath the sky
And I was found by some wanting guy.
Can’t you try to find the sin
Where the major meets minor and bins
The witness from the other –
Don’t just say you’re my brother!
Following me around!
Looking around for another guy!
Why do I try?
- Where is the
- sky?
These tough times leave me lasting less
So far so good but for the gashing stress
Of mistakes I made when the passage was fair
To eradicate my victims so far from the lair.
Permission granting fool
With his arms still swinging
All food dining
Nothing so modest as from school?
Come back to haunt me
Where the city meets the streets and fine glee
Like a Scottish Widow without further adornment
While the sleepiest gathering gives off twee
Little thanks for how little thanks there could be
For the Gods to herald a new Grub Street scene
For a publisher to be clean
After Fraser at a half past eight
In the Mr Morning after the last child laughed at eight.
He laughed at what he ate
And I continued on my freshness
To find out what the clubs had dressed up
Unlike some slasher scenarios for Wolf Blitzer
Where my hopes were dashed by jingles with Dresden.
Some men
Some glen
Then amongst
What was fondest.
Memories in the angriest violence of a tempest
Like the sleep I forgave when I woke up the least best
And drank the stiff remains of what was there before
As certain for a s ruined survivor of another night indoors.
Cuddles.
Save all your cuddles for me!
If you want the Christmas Tree –
Then name it Islamic and I will fight for the three.
What used to be?
When I was running and the beat was still funny
While the motion was some commotion for the detective
Who gave me the time of day…
,,,
I liked to say
How I felt
And keep things about how I dealt
With the hardships of life in the needling of needing a wife
When the outside man spanned some distance between me and the horizon.
What is a belief?
Some strange command of time; they made me things…
When I could demean the demonstration to cajole his sentiment
- Merry and so full of confidence
- What have you to do with me dense tense strength?
This is the thief that never came back
To tell me why I had so many such sad heart attacks
When he left the sandwiches so cold in the shop with the other guys
And offered me no coffee from Starbucks for some smiles, chips, cods and some pies.
Ephemeral affair of the Everest Man
Brought up to raise some flag of the past life plans
To outwit the Comanche
And the Black Hawk down
That stings for the forest of the running men
While the girls are leaving town.
GO!
Get some >
Let the messaging me so fair.
As when the 1990s knew the 60s
Ever let there be some affairs,
Before the waves come crashing of some dense men
Forsaken of space to close your trace
To where the legions are so lesion
For the moist matter of your soul.
Let them have goals
The hollow merry men
Who are they when they are whom
By the sandiest banks of the Hurst Street goons?
Happy now they have salvation from the Trebor mint
So I can roll over like Beethoven for the Royal fucking flint.
Brother
Brere
Bare realist to the Blair witness of some threefold Tibalt in the hour left for understanding:
Come up and see me for a while –
There are tiles in the toilet for a fall on the slap-head floor.
“Let’s go outside”
What a moonshine fly by
Until the sounds of the starship kept me close to the doorstop
So the child could snore like a sneering asp:
Hawking for the door himself
Where the good people slept and evolved like some Shamans’ whelps.
Who needed who?
When the time was past the due by date
For some new mate
Outstepping the same old footsteps that followed me down the shallow waters
Of the paddling pool of my youth.
What is it there for but to prove
That I am gay for those memories of myself
That shelve the distrust in the Tryst with Destiny
That was denied me on ITV
While Trevor McDonald told Ronald what Donald wanted to spend his clothes on with his son
For a quarter past a Dollar duck
Billed on Warren Street for the Balfour Beatty to be my steady the Eagle – Mr King Edwards!
There is your Jedward
And I am done again.
There was no strain –
And the Ark was the main thing the Maine Street bling wanted
For the antiques road showering the bleating whores down the shanty towns down the road
By Toad: – I think he’s got it,
A headache and some aches and pains
To be off again,
With love,
Can you go seeking Culture while I get that Policeman off my love shack?
Hack
Sparrow
Crow
There is no Tree of Knowledge to know.
That much was decided by John Doe
When the makeshift President left Windermere at the table.
Wild Stage 