"hideaway" poems
PARODY OF "OCTOPUS'S GARDEN" BY RINGO STARR.
I'd like to be in the country
In a marijuana garden in the shade
They'd let us skid, and smoke a lid
In a marijuana garden in the shade
I'd ask my friends to come and smoke
A bowl of good until they all choke
I'd like to be in the country
In a marijuana garden in the shade
We would find digs, and ditch the pigs
In our little hideaway inside a van
Resting our head on a truck bed
In a marijuana garden on a ranch.
We would laugh at stupid ****
We'd forget why and take a hit.
I'd like to be in the country
In a marijuana garden in the shade
We would smoke and talk about
The police that put us all away
(put your stoner *** away)
Oh I'm high! I'm high as the blue sky
Forgot to go to work today.
(Unemployed today)
We would be so toasted you and me
No one there to call the boys in blue
I'd like to be in the country
In a marijuana garden with you
In a marijuana garden with you
In a marijuana garden with you
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 2:09 AM UTC
Summer days and heatwaves
Sweat pouring down our skin
Working hard no time to rest
From the time the day begins.
Bailing hay without a shade
Not a single cloud insight
Gathering all the barely corn
We work until the night.
we have a little hideaway
A place down in the vale
Its where we drink some scrumpy
Along with beer and ale.
We while away an hour or more
Depending on how we feel
We rest and take it easy
No sound from the tractors wheel.
Now tomorrow is another day
Our work load it will keep
We may be striming hedge grows
Or we may be shearing sheep.
But we really are not bothered
We've been farmers far too long
We carry out our dutys
And sometimes with a song.
Our lives are hard but simple
We are living the country life
Away from the city and the fumes
From cars and such alike.
You see we have this hideaway
A little place down in the vale
So come along and join us
At the end of a farmers day
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 9:13 AM UTC
The way Sunday sits in its secret hideaway paradise
at the end of the week
It's legs carelessly kicking at the lake,
with wet bare feet
making concentric circles in the water with its toes
That's how you make me feel.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 12:55 AM UTC
I began to notice the
Fade.
Blotched ink, frayed seams
yet those who can't see
can't care
It was most familiar to a weary box
Which spent weekdays and nights
Traveling
To warm faces and comfort Sundays
I struggled when the
torch of permanent portions was passed to
me. Each word felt unworthy and full of
stain
I always strived for
realism
I used to clutch the cloth
carefully folding and unfolding
fearing the sendoff, knowing the return
would become rare
If at all.
it was a pricked finger and
remembrance
It was right to hideaway
At the time
I crumbled under the stage lights
The audience was expecting
More
All I could provide was
Myself
And like a spoiled child
I still pout
Demanding fame under my demanded
Street Lamps
Faded
Donated
What is, is
But. I do remember. Even if you figure the pants don't fit
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 8:44 PM UTC
My lips curl about your name,
like a newborn wraps its tiny fingers
around yours, clinging to your body
as if you are the air I need to breathe.
I want to tangle myself
within your limbs while you hold
me as tight as it takes to
mend me back together.
Your breath is warm against
the surface of my skin,
kisses to my wounds,
both the visible and
the invisible,
as you whisper your love
deep within my ears.
The words resonate through my
insides, swimming my veins,
pumping like blood through my heart.
Your fingers explore the geography
of my body, mapping the curves and
valleys that you’ve settled in.
I am a log cabin in the woods
of our bed, tucked away within
the cover of our sheets,
and you’re looking for home.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
I think I'm going blind.
I'm under the impression you've disappeared.
That you're gone for good.
That you've eliminated yourself from my retinas in order to escape my mile wide stare.
That you've constructed homes under tombstones hoping I'd mistake you for
A box of under-appreciated skeletal remains
Because all you've ever wanted is to be dead to me.
Like you wanted my eyes to forget about their day job and resort to conceptualized adultery
Because God forbid I commit to an honest day's pay.
I've never intentionally visualized imaginary fabrications.
But the truth is, my eyes do everything but tell the truth.
1. My eyes write monotonous picture books with your face plastered on every single page
Just to recreate your physical beauty time and time again
So the world knows your look tops my mind's best seller list.
2. My eyes climb mountain tops and skinny dip in stormy seas
Because sometimes crazy is the only way I can get you to look at me.
3. My eyes fly hot air balloons carried by the echoes of your soft spoken sentences
As if exhaust pipes could spew such sweet nothings into the night sky.
4. My eyes invade foreign lands with every intention of burning down
Prehistoric villages and discovering your secret hideaway because I too
Want to know how it feels to savagely destroy former sacred territory.
5. My eyes struggle out of bed every morning. Not even
Three shots of espresso can perk my eyes up enough
To allow the radiation you still give off enter my pores.
I think I'm going blind.
Or maybe I just can't see straight.
Or be straight up with you and tell you how it takes every part of me
To not gauge my own eyes out for betraying the rest of my body.
It takes every part of me to admit my misjudgments spawned the downfall of it all.
Because I told you I saw the two of us trekking through unfamiliar lands
With each stride another step towards our destiny.
Because I told you I saw something in your eyes
That gave mine the ability to smile.
Because I told you I saw us redefining what infinity
Looks like to the senseless visionary.
But my eyes don't tell the truth.
I'm going blind.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 12:05 PM UTC
here is something that
mother told me
about god complexes:
“everyone believes themselves
to be gods among men:
even that hideous monster from your
half-remembered Hellenistic dreams
will retreat back to
his craggy hideaway and continue
with his hedonistic ways.
the poor creature:
he will don a halo,
iconize himself in caricatures
pretending that if for a moment
his veins flow ichorous that
Icarus may have envied when his wings
beat in tandem with the footfalls of
the sun chariots’ horses.
“the sun shines upon
hallowed ground, though Polyphemus
will avoid Helios’s scornful gaze.
he herds sheep––his only acolytes––
an unabashed king in his realm,
like a god plays war, or as a child
would play house,
humming hallelujah,
veins running gold-blooded.
when moon rises,
he will hang his weary
shadow at his door and retreat
to his fire-pit. perhaps this will be
the closest he will be to the gods,
basking in the heat of Hestia’s
humble hearth.
“in the end,” mother said,
“Nobody will end up deified.
Icarus may have rained down wax and
feathers in godlike fury
before tilting his head to Helios once more;
Polyphemus waded into the sea,
eyes clouded in godlike fury
before resigning himself to fate, head bowed.”
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC
You are asking for advice
but you can't see reason
You are tired of her tantrums
but going against her? Treason
You know the facts
this is an issue
She may be waiting
but she doesn't miss you
Jan 5, 2021
Jan 5, 2021 at 8:25 AM UTC
Enslaved , enclosed she prays each day
Awaiting her prince , who'll whisk her away
But the world has run out of knights in shining armours
Out of glitter , out of glory , out of glamour
Her battles cannot be prayed away
Gone are the days she could hideaway
So she will have to fight her own fight
Come what may , walk through the darkest night
For in a world , where her voice is invalidated
She writes her own story ..a prince is no longer awaited
Jul 28, 2020
Jul 28, 2020 at 3:46 AM UTC
The further in the reach will cry
To surface beveled wind and sky
Wade less in the pool of text
Encountering the dampest
Moments memories mind to feel
Things our tongues would test to say
To capture the appeal
Our questions answer paradox
As grapes did once conflict the fox
We hinder in the cold
As cinders dark behold
The beautiful unfolds
A hideaway foretold
Of fire and love consoled
Rescue now the winds of time
Along the waters level
Explanations taunt with the tides
Fleeting affection at shoreside
Ever push and pull we are
Fragile such as fading stars
In voice our chords have failed to brace
What lips would speak to chase and chase
New memories will we soon create
Our hideaway at sundown waits
Meet me before the dawn breaks free
Beneath sacred sycamore tree
Our great escape in midnight's cape
With Spirit resting peacefully
© tHE tERRY tREE
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC
Glass divides
where the heart does not,
come inside,
sit beside me
in annex to this fledgling love,
spurn the sun,
in lieu of its warmth,
for the charm of
an intimate hideaway,
sweet somethings
I shall whisper into your ear,
until inner vibrations
have reached your core,
the view from here
speaks of gardens,
fountains, and holy ground,
I give them all to you
as trousseau,
so long as you agree
to dwell with me,
within a niche
of the imperishable lustre,
togetherness.
Dec 17, 2019
Dec 17, 2019 at 12:50 PM UTC
Lars lifts opens the toilet seat. The hinge squawks and he mimics the sound with his mouth. A dumb smile folds out on his face like someone unrolling a beach towel. He sits without dropping his pants or underwear. The cops are just about to leave through the screen door. Maggie offers a departing sacrament of right out of the oven of crispy flakey Pillsbury biscuits. They wave their hands parallel to the ground refusing. Maggie pulled the biscuits out too early. The bottoms are tan and dimensional but the tops are sloppy. They look like they have a glaze but they don’t have a glaze. They are pasty but still hot to the touch. The pan is hot. Maggie is wearing maroon oven mitts. One of the cops gets his foot snagged on the throw rug. They walk with their heads down but don’t notice the curled edges of the throw rug. They notice a black pug named Roger instead and nearly avoid fumbling over him. The cops scatter outside quickly like ducklings crossing the street. Lars’ dumb smile lingers and he laughs with a shushing lisp. He reaches between his legs into the toilet bowl. His hand disturbs the water. His nose is bleeding. Maggie closes the doorwall after the cops leave. The cops left the screen open. Maggie reopens the doorwall, closes the screen, shakes her head, and then closes the doorwall again. The kitchen is humming with improper wires. The light is electric pastel blue. The linoleum is too ***** to sleep on. Maggie’s ******* can be seen through her shirt. Lars wipes his nose with his arm and shoulder. He is hunched digging into the toilet bowl. He pulls out a baggie with a twist tie on top. The baggie looks reused. Maggie enters under the frame of the door and her lips roll out like a beach towel. The ******* in the baggie is very very dry.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 7:56 PM UTC
The cactus ate the moon;
a cosmic starflower;
a cyanide razorblade.
You ate your way through the mouse droppings
in the cereal bowl
and look at me through lens-less everythings.
The sun took the moon
to his midnight hideaway
and she was absent that night.
Beneath the artificial breeze
blowing noisily, raucous;
birds in a tree eating acorns like squirrels do.
I never gave you hope;
I never gave you nothing;
I never gave you what you deserved.
Senseless, mindless, wandering wanderlust
wonderlust
you're keeping yourself company tonight.
Ha! playing with yourself again, I see.
Picking your nose and rubbing your toes
in the sandy sandy dandy boy beaches.
Friendly, never ceasing.
Repeating repeating repeating lines
repeating repeating repeating signs
repeating repeating relocating lies
Nice to just let go
no reality
no gravity.
But I'm not defying, no
nor scrying, oh
but lying, go.
She gave me her hand
and expected me to restitch the fibres
as if I were ever so good a tailor.
Surgeon.
Nevermind.
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 7:44 PM UTC
Heaven, heaven is one breath away! Heaven, heaven is someone’s array of death and decay. May I say? The havens and heavens above is a way for the doves and for its love. For the day, the gay, the gray, the prey, the stray, the Sundays and sunrays! Heaven, heaven is a hideaway, a passageway, a safe way, a sway away! Heaven, heaven
is basically, eccentrically, theoretically and poetically for some of the
awesome that blossom! It’s an anthem or a poem! It’s fearsome, it’s freedom and a kingdom of wisdom! Heaven, heaven is a place of face, grace, race and trace. It’s full of allure and demure! It’s rest and a test assured! Where, there you can invest the best and insure your problems can be cured! Heaven, heaven’s characterized cries and eyes! The flies, the lies, the prize in disguise! Its skies, ties, the whys and the
wise. Footprints and imprints of ancient legends of heroes, Negroes and Neros of long, long ago! Heaven, heaven’s gorgeous doorsteps! Yep! Its havens grand, take a stand. Many brands, many hands, many
strands of many sands! Heaven, heaven is enormous and glamorous! It’s where adjacent, impatient humorous, numerous followers throng and prolong! The bleak, meek, the weak, the strong and wrong! There
is where, reactive in proactive citizens and frail senior citizens hail and sail! They prevail as they unveil! They thrive and throng to there,
where righteous, brightness belongs. Heaven, heaven all adhere and hear! The allowed, the followed, the hallowed, the supreme cloud towers and gracious powers! Heaven, heaven basked and tasked by thy masked gleam. Aside, inside it seemed I was alone…
As I cried, as I sighed! Tied in wonder, under the heaven’s throne of wonder! In blunder, as I wondered if I were dead? Instead, black crows in rows, attacked and flew over my head! Squawking, talking, flying asunder, with plunder, plunder, under the thunder, thunder! Definitely bringing me to my knees! Infinitely squawking, talking, flying around me with ease, glee and tease! Please heaven, heaven!
For instance in the distance... It’s dreamingly and seemingly quaint you see! Faint sounds of angel’s hymning and rhyming! Their heavenly, heavenly, singing, ringing triumphantly, triumphantly! Although, through the distance and persistence in time; we to will hopefully and loyally dine. Dine in thrill, on the heaven, heaven’s divine! Amen all children, men and women, heaven, heaven amen.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 10:12 PM UTC
Enchanted Evening
sipping iced lemon tea
the cooling sea breeze
refreshing, rejuvenating
dreaming on a hammock
under a coconut trea
enjoying the warmth of evening sun
just before the sunset
spending the last hours of the day
hours of standing, talking, writing...
now the time to relax
in a secret hideaway...
let the gentle wind massages your skin...
and pampers your day....
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 4:13 AM UTC
Do you remember when we walked
into the sea
and on the sand ?
Do you remember
Liza with a Zee
as if she was here only yesterday?
And the people
in the ports of Amsterdam?
You loved them as I did,
As if they were flowers
someone had forgotten to water.
The moments with you
were the moments in my life
I could scarcely forget
even if I tried to shove them
into some dusty hideaway corner.
How many times have I remembered,
after forgetting for so long?
As the wind would blow and stop,
and blow again some day.
And do you remember
the seabird overhead,
trying to tell us
something about life.
With his voice full of anguish
and loneliness-longing …
flying high,
flying into realms of seagull joy.
Inviting us to join in heart
as we watch from far below.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 2:36 PM UTC
The terrible truth is...
I love that I can run away!
That I can escape into this world...
Where everything is anything I want it to be.
Where you are just a figment of my imagination.
And, I can make you so much sweeter.
And there is no negativity,
no melancholy drama.
Here the animated beauty I see,
lies within everything, even you.
I can twist your evil words into a sweet sweet song ringing in my head.
The animosity in the room is not palpable,
and there is only a longing to dance in rhythm.
Oh I love this land of make believe!
Where just a word turns into a constant outflow.
Or a solitude thought of fantasy,
becomes an intriguing and engulfing page.
I love the traffic jam in my head,
just waiting to become permanent ink.
Words strung together never to be taken back,
to just linger in the world....
waiting for someone to cherish them.
To open eyes and minds....
To inspire and ignite imagination and individuality!
To provide an escape for you and them...
To provide a mental island for myself.
Inside my blissful hideaway..
Everything is so comfortable!
No rules to follow, no expectations to meet.
Complete freedom.
Oh how I do love it here.....
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 10:28 PM UTC
Dennis was a citizen
A denizen, a resident
Of somewhere near a motorway
A hideaway most opulent
Ensnared amid the railway
And trail ways for motorcars
A haven from the modern day
The takeaways and trendy bars
But shattered in the summer morn
His rest was torn by hammering
Invading what was once inert
So to his curtains clamouring
He banished each to either side
He threw them wide with knuckles white
And saw in front of his abode
Across the road, a building site
A certainty within his mind
Did slowly wind his purpose tight
And with a grim determined jaw
Across the floor he took to flight
Descending stairs without a care
His morning hair resembling
A dandelion set to seed
In need of disassembling
He strode across his dining room
And snatched a broom which lay by chance
Against the table by the door
And held before him like a lance
He mounted his beloved bike
A cycle like no other made
And on a builder set his sight
With all his might and unafraid
He charged his foe at quite a rush
And with his brush, the builder smote
And leaping from his trusty steed
He did proceed to stop and gloat
Before resuming in his spate
The builders mate did turn and run
To raise the dragon, JCB
It roared with glee and wheels spun
So Dennis, though his ears resound
With just the pound of noble heart
Did firmly stand and face the beast
His brow was creased and feet apart
He struck the creature savagely
And stubbornly with just his head
And that, according to the news
Was what the paramedics said
The End
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 6:30 AM UTC
stumbled upon your hideaway
an unexpected intrusion,
sunken heart I swallowed
hallucinating your shadow,
bluntly dismissing my worries
as my eyes fondly sought
a heaven within your cheeks,
softly blushing underneath
your eyes treasured me
oh, naive little me,
put a foot aside, darling,
undone love awaits outside,
fantasies blinded your soul
while I stood, earnestly
yearning to own your heart
Nov 27, 2021
Nov 27, 2021 at 11:16 AM UTC
Are we the cattle of an entire nation?
What have we got to lose? Except for those already lost
You can be docile or violent, just don’t lie in silence!
Rise up! Here begins a new age, end discrimination!
Innocence is dead, the wrong men end up in the jail cell
This place is nice, but life is going to hell
They’re ****** ‘cause the former majority is now a minority
Hypocritical foundations, this land’ll never unite
What happened to Civil Rights?
They only gave us what was left.
You pigs - You must be bored just to send so many to the morgue
I can’t stand to watch the news, this society isn’t one to put kids through
And it’ll only get worse
Time never changes, history repeats
No more running (RISE UP!) This is the culling!
The culling!
Never will I be your *****
The culling! (x2)
The United States lives an ****** Cold War!
(Let’s Rock)
We are the Antiheros, the Public Enemy
Now join me friends, let’s unveil the clarity
Who am I to you? When you look what do you see?
All you see are the colors of sin
The American Dream is broken, you breed loathing
Who can, Who will - Make America Great Again?
I can’t be led by a Puppeteer of Dollar Strings
You wanna make the world free? (HUH?)
But the only thing costless, is the loss of me
Drop it! If she needs and investigation
(She’s out!) That’s the end of an asinine conversation
Rise Up! It’s far too late
I am the spirit of those who live with a target
One wrong factor can end an actor
The leaders are gone, the show is over
It’s the end of the road, but the start of -
The Culling!
A Constitution Diluted by Disillusion
The Culling!
A Jail For A Nationalistic Conspiracist!
Time puses back, but it doesn’t make it better
The War is getting colder and the water’s getting redder
Every Rose has it’s thorns
We are the Bulls with dulled horns - Branded!
We’re the ones you reprimanded!
I! Feel I was born in the wrong time
I’ll go forward and see if they opened their eyes
Or I’ll go back! So I could ****** Revolutionize!
We all see, the ocean is vast
But like the truth and time, It Never Lasts!
Post-Traumatic Society Destruction
The Bliss of Disorder continues to function
All of the ways you hold us down
Leads to a point we take your crown
Everytime you hold us back
Pushed in a corner, poised to attack
One last push against -
The Culling!
We can’t hideaway any longer
The Culling (x3)
Your ignorance makes us stronger
The Culling!
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 12:21 AM UTC
it is cold
my ******* are hard
I'm not fond enough of you
to care whether you think of me as appropriate or otherwise
I drink because I like it when my vision matches the blur of my mind
a boy I don't know came up to me at the gay bar
he caressed my face and walked away and then walked back
to apologize for not being able to contain himself
his friend also apologized on his behalf and assured me that
it is not his friends fault that I am so charming
naturally I smiled in comprehensive shyness
it has been a while since a touch has felt like home
it has been a while since home has felt like home
you will fall in love with all the wrong girls
you will ******** your way out of the responsibilities of growing up
you will catch the attention of strangers
and you will mean so much to them
so many things
so many thoughts
so many names left unknown
sit out with me in stormy weather
we're both naive, broken, and delirious
with not much else to do, do it with me
roaming poet of the night, give me your words
*oh, pour me another drink
and punch me in the face
you can call me Nancy*
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 6:30 AM UTC
~~~
Happy Hanukkah Brother Nat!
~~~
*this poem is not for young lovers,
seasoned soldiers of the heartfelt only need apply,
give me my merry mercy-naries to save me
from criminal holiday insouciance,
shoot me with the rounds of caring,
that come so fast
and last as long as I can
nod and wink...*
~~~
used to drink inspiration
from Manhattan sidewalk rain riveted cracks,
turn half overheard street conversation snatches
into half decent poems by Nat(chez),
professors turning phrases, upbringing a brain ratcheting,
choreographers, dancing in body and spirit and word,
in summation, a thief of opportunity...
these days, the pattern prevailing,
the El Niño de Natalino,
is drawing up works
from the wealth of messages and comments,
my troubadours, my y'all youse guys, share,
so as I compose,
not knowing where this goes,
I'm just simple knowing,
that a heartfelt reach out,
addressed as
Happy Hanukkah Brother Nat!
deserves the recognition of its sweet intent,
in a lyric all its own,
like a traditional festival
Hanukkah jelly donut (true1)
t'is the seasonal affectation of salutations
all commencing with happy,
never struck me as anything deeper
than surficial superficial,
but this time its textual emendation -
the inclusion of genuine brotherly love,
loops, Humpty Dumpty cracks and swoops,
and here I am fastening word combos,
when the clickty clack of the clock
says uh-uh, poem in the making,
natural verbal child birthing, sleep hours docked,
and here I am,
begetting instead of shushing
a day-older brain to get-thee-to-a-hideaway...
*this poem is not for young lovers,
seasoned soldiers of the heartfelt only need apply,
give me my mercy-naries to save me
from criminal holiday insouciance,
shoot me with the rounds of caring,
that come so fast
and last as long as I can
nod and wink...*
sooner than later it will be the Fourth,
and in my eyes a day-deserving of a fireworks spectacular,
though the month matters not,
the sentiments of brotherhood and live love,
independent and freely given,
deserves enhanced ignition recognition
and herein supplied...
you had me at the greeting so fleeting,
then ask my advice,
is there to be had a greater compliment,
so my mien and demeanor are now modified
an oath sworn, till the infamous 31st,
every passerby and child
will be bequeathed a shockingly rowdy,
Happy and Merry,
sincerity coated
and tinged with you know what...
~~~
Dec. 3, 2015
nyc
11:12 pm
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 11:27 PM UTC
I bleed as not in pain or anguish
Nature reminds me of the beautiful crimson within me
My body celebrate in its own way
The crimson flow burst in its fullness rich in colour
Embrace the moment with joy, I am anxious,
Flows between my thighs, warm and thick,
I bleed a beautiful flow
Piercing glances shame me
Disgust is the flow that defines me,
Fear and Silence draw into the depth of a dark cloud
Rejection drowns the beauty in my flow
Joy and worth is ****** with each drop
My voice is silenced by my helper
I bleed a beautiful flow
Golden yet crimson is my flow
Anxiety unravel the shame within me
Hideaway from my helpers just for a while
The flows leave traces of its existence on
Drenched in the cloths that cover me
The ground I sit tells the world my misery
The crimson brighten only the ground I sit
Only darkness will hide my shame
I bleed a beautiful flow
I crawl away to my own dark place
There dignity is nothing but a dream
A cloth to drain the flow is all I desire
My hope is on my helper but no,
They withhold their helping hand
I am drowning silence unable to speak yet,
I bleed a beautiful flow.
I yearn to plead with my helper for a moment
To lament my desire to hide my shame in a cloth
They throw a dark cloud over me, I am a disgrace
I am silenced even by my own kind
They too who have been pulled into a dark hole of silence
Their hope is far Gone with the Wind
Buried in the voices of those who claim to own my kind
My thoughts wander in misery and grief
As one lost in an unknown world,
I bleed a beautiful flow.
A voice from within calls out to me
It reminds me of the strength embedded in my kind
A gentle whisper tells me to celebrate my flow
I must rise and say the first words although fear grips me
I rise like a tide and fight for my own kind
I speak although silence is expected of me
I must fight for my beautiful flow
I bleed a beautiful flow
Sep 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019 at 4:06 PM UTC
A tavern built on misdeeds and insurrection,
House of rascals, whisky and imperfection
A hideaway for rebels and racketeers,
Where drinks are served to outlaws and mutineers,
Where the pianist plays for pirates and privateers,
Where the wicked and the wayward can be served,
And are respected however undeserved.
It’s a rag-tag bunch of outlaws and anarchists,
A cavalcade of rough revolutionists,
So come on in my dear insurrectionist,
Welcome to our lawless little band,
Welcome to the Tavern of the ******
Come and join our banished battalion,
Join our cause, oh revered rapscallion,
So calling out to nature’s abominations,
We’ve got bourbon, bombshells and indignation,
Come and wait for imminent and sure damnation,
No matter what your deviance may be,
Come and join the drunken reverie.
It’s a monument to lost souls and deviants,
A shrine to every small disobedience,
A riotous, cathartic experience,
Where radicals are safe from reprimand,
Welcome to the Tavern of the ******
Welcome back, my worshipped renegade,
To the place where freedom’s sweet as lemonade,
Where skanks and outlaws, sing so intoxicated,
The anthem of the unkempt and agitated,
The mantra of the evil and of the hated,
Laughing as they sing their merry tune,
Unified by their impending doom.
It’s a testament to chaos and anarchy,
A haven for the worst of humanity,
A house of lawlessness and profanity,
Welcome to our lawless little band,
Welcome to the Tavern of the ******
Aug 19, 2020
Aug 19, 2020 at 6:59 PM UTC