It has been- the same ole' scene
in this same ole', stock city.
I spend my moons- singing out,
baffoon -ishly,
this same ole' song of Eldorado.
I sing this same ole' song:
as the dead, golden grass
grows grand and green.
I sing this same ole' song:
as a sixty mile, whipping wind
blows through the Mississippi.
I sing this same ole' song:
under the succulent shine of,
the fullest of many moons.
I sing this same ole' song:
until I hear the beetles and worms
chew through this coffin,
deep in the ground of Eldorado.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 12:44 PM UTC
It has been- the same ole' scene
in this same ole', stock city.
I spend my moons- singing out,
baffoon -ishly,
this same ole' song of Eldorado.
I sing this same ole' song:
as the dead, golden grass
grows grand and green.
I sing this same ole' song:
as a sixty mile, whipping wind
blows through the Mississippi.
I sing this same ole' song:
under the succulent shine of,
the fullest of many moons.
I sing this same ole' song:
until I hear the beetles and worms
chew through this coffin,
deep in the ground of Eldorado.
April 5th, 2016 (Poe inspired)
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