Untitled #111013

untitled #111013

In the old thatched cottage,
In capable hands do teach.
Solemn tales are told in,
Mice ridden holes and crevices.
Seamstresses rid the earth of cotton for fathom tired men,
Who plot and decide upon their wicked games.

They play upon the mind,
Incapable they laugh and scorn,
In their cotton garbs,
The blood process of their tidings deceives the goodness
At the base level,
And in the old parched, thatched cottage,
Things just get
Swept up, even the crumbs from beneath the table.
And just empty ruins, empty
Vessels of ruinous parchment.

The base metals of the seamed garbs,
Are lent upon by the wars of this world,
Gobbled up consignments, hiding swords and swearing.
Wooden buildings can't stand up against those stable steels,
And the hooded and cloaked young ones
Stand proud.  

The Boxer

The Boxer

Have a listen to my version of this incredible song.

Alive

Alive

Check this song out please!

Untitled

This could be
The greatest day.
Meeting friends, soon to be
Neighbour
Return the gesture
Return to the crow
Ending.

Untitled #1

On a crass desert highway,
Gotta laugh at the byways,
Make a grey day saunter sad,
On briny hill, lead on, we brag.

Beatnik Basement

Jimmy's in the makeshift,
time shift, hip flask, crime test,
Semi brazen ship mast,
Cane fried zip task,
Lip service, jump past,
Last post on the early fast,
Nasty plastered sand castle,
Haphazard, cast shuddered,
Leather rendered quick blast,
Never, ever treat steam,
Least likely lime light.

Pass the Passenger

In case of border landscape,
We need complete control,
Passenger B, where did you go?