just a ****** busker wishing he was a **** buster he swam lack-lustre, a salmon unable to muster the will to cut the custard, and flutter upstream to meet a lover
stuck in the gutter singing covers a crushed sucker, tasteless kfc crusher ominous as a dawn-less dusk and useless as a ham sandwich with no mustard
The great turbines now rusted I wonder if I can still cry the heavens make it look so easy when tears fall from the sky
the wet rags of emotion can no longer be wrung the sobs to the beat of a tearful drip have been sung those sonnets have been passed to another's lungs another's tongue are tears what it means to be young