Well am still on this road, that holds no gold , just a *** of sour memories,
The more I search , there is no help just people with false dreams.
I drunk them dreams took em too the streams of unfashionable places to be ,

Got wrote off tore off drunk some more of the jailer I called queen .
Layed my head down sought the liquid crown , and that was the end for me.
Or so I thought
Till I lost the plot in a small town just of the Ochiltree  vally.
Queer folks rambling,  trading anything for gambling , drinkin gut rot home stilled unpleasantries,
I picked my way , from this  darkest of  days and now lie in my wooden box regardless