This eleven dollar pin-striped everything, seems he’s been whistlin’ within these Southern Star winds – sippin’ on sweet, sweet Old-Fashioned whiskeys
Neat,
Orange peel
please
When once-upon-a-lonesome eager old eyes meet right by the middle,
all over again
She sits rather haphazard astride,
only ever carries with her these treasured emblem strings
Namely an escapism violin – shall only ever sing for her utmost sins amidst natural-born lyrical persuasion
To the frightful, no less fightful cause of a stifetime
When they needed the truthful truth more than most, they made their intricate way out from inner within
– Pretty, pretty pennies placed tantalised atop
Passersby realising this disguised brilliance
Amidst momentary mishap,
they twisted ‘n’ bled themselves earth-shatteringly dry
Shrinkingly amidst these blink-‘n’-you’ll-miss-it pitifully lacklustre creative cravings,
of cry-we-a-river theirs
He says it ’til she sings it,
oh so goddamn sweetly
