Monday, October 10, 2005

Bold Slubbergudgeon

Quiet drunk on a one-way street
Who is it you stumble off to meet?
The zealous highwayman, the local choir
They will sing sweet music, and eye you there
Gutter man, with a guttered stare.

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 We must all come  Find ourselves And we will all be found Regardless  As the sun finds the morning As breath finds the lungs As I am found ...