Tought thoughts on a night

 

All I need is a clear road and a grip to steer by.

On the fosty night of a road well traveled.

Rubber rubber every where and my tube did shrink

Nor a wispful breath to fill the bottom show

A tired dead, a dreary darth of inflated sense

No more to roll along the final sound the end

Your land I must walk in slump shump clump

Tire worn and weary song a weary man

My head is down I’m going around.

I’ll meet you in Kingston town

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s