Scrambling in the dark for sure, with the kind of voice that sent people in completely the wrong direction
Oh so boring that as soon as they saw him they prayed to the high heavens for the injection chair
Mounds of despair
Spoke all about the wrong kinds of things, even worse when he landed his hands upon a guitar, attempted to sing the Goddamn Blues
Only ever through a slew of words
Absurd because there was no real lineage when it came to who his makeshift audience might like to blame
Shame really
Didn’t drink so this was all down to him, with his greying hair in an Elvis quiff he always made sure to finish off the night with a hardened spliff between those crusty ol’ lips