Tomorrow leaves keep floating on.
Pleasure with ease the wind keeps blowing them on,
On and on till thy kingdom come,
Thy Golden Brown to a solid sound, Where will they rest? When will they be found as compost to the ground.

Love lost the star in bar heaven he done,
Spirit behind all drank up in one,
One led to another you can do the sum,
A trail of which all drunk up and with no such fun,
Marching a front to everyone who can.

I live silent dreams in a palace so far that it seems,
Notoriety played a special scene into far I could dream,
Tremendous limitations breathing in light to complications,
So sweet did I just sleep.

Money talks bulls hit walks,
Craven has its ability to fly,
Never a hard days work thy will be done, that to put a sock in to it and to move on as one.
Where will they rest? Whenever shall it be done,
Sky less written only to press place and find...

O'Reily@26022014