Aug 2020
In truth, boyo, no one wins
Except the dogs who conjure sins,
They who set the snare for thee
To lose for all eternity.
While they grow fat at your expense
Knowing there's no recompense....
Laughing up their Satan's sleeve
To lance your writhing, sick unease,
Your weakness.... knowing now and then
Tomorrows bet you'll lay again!
M.
Except the dogs who conjure sins,
They who set the snare for thee
To lose for all eternity.
While they grow fat at your expense
Knowing there's no recompense....
Laughing up their Satan's sleeve
To lance your writhing, sick unease,
Your weakness.... knowing now and then
Tomorrows bet you'll lay again!
M.
Yea! Who among us shall, first, caste the stone?
Who shall point the finger of accusation declaring those of us who imbibe....weaklings?
Not I, brother, for the lure of filthy lucre has me by the short and curlies...and I back myself to beat the odds....Whatever ill or damnation thee may utter in bleak and pious condemnation?
Who shall point the finger of accusation declaring those of us who imbibe....weaklings?
Not I, brother, for the lure of filthy lucre has me by the short and curlies...and I back myself to beat the odds....Whatever ill or damnation thee may utter in bleak and pious condemnation?
