Monday, April 30, 2012

song of the damned number 21

i am just a lonely moocher
with no present past or future
and the windows watch me well
on the rainy street to hell

and my brain begins to hum
for a taste of opium
and its incandescent streams
of fervid fleeting dreams

i would sell my ragged soul
for the tenth part of a bowl
there's nowhere that i wouldn't slink
for just one more - one more drink

all you mandarins and missionaries
in your mansions museums and libraries
will you know a brighter final fate
than the stranger dragging past your gate?

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