Oct 2010
A lonesome trumpet tells a tragic tale,
(One might say a tragedy)
That echoes the emptiness of teeming streets.
From the orange-blue skies, to the red rooftops of Madrid, I hear a cacophony of voices
Telling me to eat, **** and ****
God is still crying.
And as rain grinds the streets into dust,
I only wish to see the sun.
(One might say a tragedy)
That echoes the emptiness of teeming streets.
From the orange-blue skies, to the red rooftops of Madrid, I hear a cacophony of voices
Telling me to eat, **** and ****
God is still crying.
And as rain grinds the streets into dust,
I only wish to see the sun.
Read this poem over the first minute of Miles Davis' Concierto De Aranjuez. That's how it was meant to be read.
Written by
Billy Bob Will Bob Joe Bob
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