Jun 2020
Etched into the stone of you
Mr Bukowski your are words clear
They’re here permeating tears
My drum hears, my lobe sears
Carved in your grave “Don’t try”
And I’m near
Mr Bukowski your are words clear
They’re here permeating tears
My drum hears, my lobe sears
Carved in your grave “Don’t try”
And I’m near
