The Agent stood on the corner,
Smelling faintly of bourbon and stale cigarettes,
Loss and despair.

He was a rising star when he had started,
A keen eye for talent and shrewd in business.
But those times had long past,
For all he had now was the bittersweet yearn of nostalgia and just enough in royalties for a dumpy apartment.

A light rain started,
It's cold droplets stinging lightly on the Agent's reddened nose,
Irking him,
Beyond not just having a drink.

The Agent spots his shelter,
A bar just down the street.

As he walks in,
He shakes loose the rain that hadn't clung yet,
And shuffles over to the bar with hands shoved deep in pockets,
He goes and orders a drink.

It is then that he looks over to see a band getting ready in the corner,
It is then that the Frontman belted out the count in.

And the agent dropped his drink.

Stevie Nicks is telling me about her emotions after an argument with an old lover,
Her hearts still probably beating fast,
She's pouring them out like a faucet,
It's lone electric guitar underlining the loneliness of the song
But it is also one about hope

The lakes waves softly lap on the beaches pebbly bank.
The crickets out in force.
All is quiet on the lake front,
A vacation well deserved

Puffy white glaciers crawl lazily across the sky,
The buzzing of flies and the smell of freshly cut grass,
The puffs of dandelion seeds floating across the field,
The cool breeze refreshing to heated faces,
Sky a pleasant Infantry Blue.

The spider was patient,
It had all the time in the world,
For it had been around since time immemorial,
So it lied there in the woods,
Waiting for its opportunity.

The child was curious,
As all children are at that age,
As to why the sky was blue,
Why the grass was green,
And why wasn't he allowed to go into the woods alone.

The inevitable inevitability happened.

So the child went out alone one day,
To see what was all the fuss,
And it was then that the spider took the child into it's awaiting arms,
To be yet another tribute to the forest.

The clacking of metal as components are slid into place,
The precision machining of the parts would make a novice go nuts,
But this isn't my first rodeo,
Using the buttstock to hammer out a pin that has a tendency to stick,
Then the feedtray cover is freed.

The components are checked up on,
Scraped free of carbon if any is found,
With a homemade tool that works better than any you could purchase.

CLP is applied lightly,
An old rag used to clean up any excess liquid.

With the same amount of precision and care is used to assemble her,
Piece by piece,
A symphony of moving parts and deft finger movements.

Functions check complete,
This Lady is ready to dance.

Some say it's thicker than tar,
Others say it tastes like turpentine,
To the first I'd say that rumor is stretched too far,
And to the second I'd say it tastes quite fine.

As long as you do it right.

I'll even give you the recipe:
- A *** of water
- Coffee grounds (1/2 cup-3/4 cups)
-A non-tattered boot sock (it'll take a little while to find a good one)

Step 1: Pour coffee grounds into sock and tie it off.
Step 2: Bring *** of water to a rolling boil
Step 3: Steep sock and leave it in ***.
Step 4: Remove *** from heat source.
Step 5: Wait 5 minutes then serve.

That's it,
That's all there is to it,
The magic behind it all,
Add or subtract time as preferred,
Cheaper then a coffee machine,
Once the right sock is found.

It is an odd thing to learn,
So off the wall and profound.

Are you brave enough to try?

There always making...
There always taking...

From a flower so sweet,
it will control your means...

The poppie plant,
the joy of life.....

Opiates consume,
and take another life...

What ever the dose,
yet ****** come first...

The pharmaceutical companies,
make it worse...

Now a legal drug,
with no proabition....

Will take many lives,
without a decision....

Either way in life,
weather its right or wrong...

Drugs will take your life,
regardless how strong u are...