Cowgirl
Locked-up in the joint
Rough riding, when you could have been dancing
No stars to gaze at now
Nothing!

Little killers
one, two, three...
Learning all the letters

Little killers
one, two, three...
guessing for the answers

Killing sibling's learning man
A game once we did play
You learn to spell or die
Okay?  The old fashion way

If you were gonna
Then you would have.
But, you didn't.
So, you weren't.

Can a blind man
Become a poet
How can one write
about the things
they have never seen

Could a deaf man
Write poetry
How could he express
the sounds of things
He has never heard

Would a dolt even think
About writing poetry
and if he COULD put down
on paper what he feels
Who on Earth would ever listen

There's a professor at Harvard
Who teaches poetry
left, write, upside down, and sideways
but, she was never
Write for me

Peter Boyle was a ***** old thief
And he took me for three million
Just before he died he came to visit me
Just to brag about it
He said "Hey DaveE Ha Ha Ha
I took you for a sucker.
No, just kidding!
You're my only friend
Since John Lennon died"
Then I remembered times with Peter and John
And how we did brainstorming
That one time
Just kicking back
And talking about things
And smoking each other's packs of cigarettes
And laughing
  
Just last winter I saw her face
The girl with the golden tan
Hope I see that woman again
Working for the pizza man

I have the fear that
Someday they're going to hunt me down
No real sense in leaving town
  
They all know me
or better than to jam me down
No sense changing that
  
Yeah, they know me
Too many years here
No sense in running
Too many years here
No sense in looking back

not out loud
obviously
but I would think it
possibly even whisper it
in a private place.