On the rebound,
sounds like  a
record label

all if it goes round
is the sound of
revolvers being loaded.

It's a shotgun way
when it ends this way
but if there's a better way
you'd better tell me.

When I was a saint and
I ain't any more
I could close on the deal
before they'd opened the door

and now who am I?

the sinner
and you
can't make a sonnet
out of
a dogs dinner.

If I'm found on the rebound
throw me back in
but
let me begin with
a
clean slate

Foul deeds
are the wanton needs
but needs must
be unjust
when the devil drives

I steer my own rig
perform at my own gig
got no room for
no prophet of doom.

There is no boom or bust
no south sea bubble to
trouble me
no pyramid selling
and no one is telling me
to stop.

My terms
My time
My rhyme
if you dinky don't like it
jump ship.