A pock-marked, fedora wearing masterpiece – probably
These times are trying to toy with everybody aside their natural born senses
No less lonely for it, nonetheless
A Caprio Sun cocktail to ‘quench’ what’s entirely insatiable – the whisky hit the sink proper only a week ago
He simply smiles to be free – a thousand manic tendencies
A billion flies on him
He’s Larry Montgomery and he owns the whole misshapen universe