John sat by the bar.
Looking at the girls from a far.
Taking a swig, placed his left leg in.

Owww pritty woman do you want to dance.
Owww pritty woman do you want a diamond ring.
Who do you love?........you pritty thing.

She smiled at him.
Yes........... I want to dance.
And with you I will take a chance!

Sally from the alley.
Placed her right leg in.
Then the dance!....... of life did begin.

I am going to fly till the midnight sun.
Today my life has began.

You are

ONLY  PRITTY  AS HOW  YOU   FEEL.

PRITTY  AS  YOU  FEEL inside, SO   COME ALIVE

AND  GO  do some good,   ONLY  PRITTY  AS HOW  YOU   FEEL.

PRITTY  AS  YOU  FEEL inside, SO   COME ALIVE.

Did you know every house needs a. Mouse ?
One day a fine lady with mousy hair and dressed in white ,
With little pink shoes ,
and pritty pink gloves ,
knocked on my door ,
" Would you care for a mouse for you'r beautiful house " ?
with a grin and a smile and a sniff of the air .
" For all the mice will run away when they see this one in marble and clay "
How sweet thought I " For two shillings " said I to keep every mouse
from field and door won't bother me no more " .
as she left a wild flurry of sleet was cast. ,
who would scamper away to the field and the grass ,
a cold wind blew .
An orange the pritty girls sold not for a penny .
To pest houses for the dying a watchman for many ,
a mother held her child for pestelance did wake .

And every mouse that scampered up drain pipes from rivers and streams ,
from underneath old floor boards and along barns and beams .
For miles and miles like a pied piper they ran ,
to see the mouse above fire place lifted on high .
Riding high and mighty this pale horse rode ,
to no houses with a mouse did he find his abode .
Only one day that mouse of clay did dust bin did lay ,
to every mouses. deep dismay ,
the oranges from pritty girls no one would buy ,
the sweet smell of flowers as death walked by .
The mouse lady knocked on yet another door
" you need a mouse for your beautiful house " ?

your a pretty girl in platinum, anyone tells you, your not. You've got the football team just crake em'.
Like that **** don't matter, you'll forget about it when life is served to you, on a silver platter.
you smile in all your pitchers, but you've got all of them fouled. because behind closed doors your broken, and inside you feel like your choken'
You've got the chance to be the best, but inside your just like the rest.
Life's not fare, not what its all cracked up to be.
You watch as your mom forgets you dad's infidelity.
Your brothers never home, he left when he was old enough
leveeing you to pick up the ruff stuff.
He smokes to much duch in the bathroom, acts out, schools about to call your dad soon.
Your mom reads the note you wrote, se calls you out and pushes you down.
Sais if you ruin the face of the family, they'd never find your body.
Because of this, you feel death is your best option.
The way out its in the bathroom, take a few pills you'll be dead soon.
your running a race but you'll never finish it. But all your doing is trying to save face.
Now I'd like o take this moment, to tell you to take a bow, weight for the call of the Curtin, because you've fouled them all, they never knew you were hurtin'
After all this you come out alive.
Because some kid saw it in your eyes.
Remember that kid you watched get pushed to the ground, he knew that you were feeling numb and you really had no one.
the kid stud up for you when he never even knew you, he stood up because he really hoped you would come out of it, and be above it....but you never woke up, in your head you had enough, your mom cant see It because she's to busy trying to be 'it'. your dad doesn't notice you, and your brother doesn't even know you, so who can blame you for wanting to duck out?
cant say it agene ill see you when I don't want to pretend.

Once upon a time i was happy.
Once upon a time i was pritty.
Once upon a time i was in love.
Once upon a time i was not cold harted.
Once upon a time i was loved

Have you heard the tale of Lord  Gusstaff and all the good things he did ?
Did you hear in his chambers ,
or the choristers of the night ,
how he charmed the ladies ,
how they flocked to his side ?
His moustache was long and elegant ,
so dashing for the time .

Now every door was open when he passed by ,
and white flowers of the day were placed where every pritty he lay in the long dark reaches of the night .

For when the birds began to sing ,
their tones  pitch perfect would sing just for him ,
just for Gusstaff. the good .

The ladies pouted like flamingos all around ,
his tales of bravery they listened and were captivated by his stare .
For his eyes were dark ,
his manor took wind to their sail .

How Nobel were his deeds ,
and loving and bold ,
not once were his lovers bitter ,
or cold .


Then one night ,
the bells fell silent ,
and the wind whistled as if in silent prayer ,
a vesper of the night ,
Gusstaff lay dying in a field of war his white shirt stained in blood ,
His dying words how brave ,
how brave ,
Leave a white flower for the ladies ,
to each one ,
I loved
let them place a flower in my grave ,
for where the petunia grows his love still flows ,
and flamingo s still surround them ,
and ladies weep  their hearts forever fountains,
In memorials to Gusstaff the good .

Take heed then as the Fox makes Love in the night ,
Vixens will follow ,
and his ghost still screams out for love.

Mother i remember as
the pritty one with teats
not one of those other knobs
that chow cha chewed
do you mother remember me
i am the one you called
the black sheep
and on a good day Paul
tonight i remember all
you are my dispersible aspirin
and mother i need you now.

Cats are pritty just like my kitty I hate this wether in okelhoma city it's gross and yacky and oh so gucky

The phones stopped ringing ,
my mobiles run out of bat ,
and the clock keeps ticking,
tick tick tick Tok .
and as I pull the covers more hours slip away .

The rain won’t stop falling and the winds blowing a gale ,
as I head out to the churches with porch lights ablaze ,

There’s a choir down town ,
its time to come shine ,
for now it’s time to come and sing !

The  lights are all a blazing the trumpets are on tune ,
and the rain just keeps on falling on this sunny afternoon.

Yet all  I’m wishing is all I want ,
and there are beautiful heavenly voices coming from the front .
I’m just standing there with tears in my eyes with ,
mince  pies and samosas cups of coffee and cake ,

and they are all busy chatting so full of love and grace .

The Christmas tree with it’s pritty lights behind the pull pit lies ,
with happy faces all around it handing out samosas and mince pies ,

The doors closes and the roads are all quiet ,
the clock keeps on ticking in my room ,
I turn over ,
Put out my light and all there is ,
Is you

" How far the crow flys they say .
I watched intently as the crow suddenly took flight ,
above dense grey clouds it flew ,
far above chimney tops ,
and the smoke that billowed out heating comfy homes ,
and little boys and girls dreaming of Christmas toys from Santa .
Where air was thin ,
Somewhere between heaven and earth !
Where night and day , sun and moon ,
and rain ,
are somehow forgotten .
The crow landed on a branch ,
below a most beautiful garden .
Streams of living water gave life to its plants ,
Where no **** could be found .
No rain ,
No Sun ,
No moon by night .
Something more splendid ,
Holy ,
Walked this place .
Why have you brought me here I cryed ?
What right do I have to stand in this place ?
I. Was born ,
Not of love ,
But of lust .
Hated by my Father ,
Left for dead by my Mother ,
Dragged up from the gutter ,
Bread and cheese .
Yet my Woman and daughter I loved ,
Begged , and tramped for bread to feed their pritty heads .
Crushed to death ,
With no grave to rest my head .

Then I saw a naked man reach up to grab some fruit ,
Without a thought he took a bite ,
and a sneering snake took root .
'" Where are you what have you done ? "
I heard a voice did say
My bird took flight from paradise ,
I watched it fly away .
Far above the starry night ,
above where angels sing
and lead to far greater things
Than I could ever dream .

In dreams I have delighted in you ,
now my heart is found ripped in two ,
by you’re icey stare ,
and olive eyes ,
and sharpened breath from which know no lies .

For the manacles we made were but a monkey in our heads ,
For flowers I must give and on this bridge I wait ,
nothing but bird song and the sounds of the waters below .

The rushing of the wind ,
tbe pale sun dims ,
the evening primrose fades ,
as in memories of you in the twilight ghosts of the fireflies wait ,
for you .
I shall wait until the  darkness clears ,
for many a night I have waited here ,
and though another mans love you pine ,
you’re love will be forever mine .

My blood how it mingles in the cold flowing water ,
for I kept my promise ,
Red waters for red roses ,
and a blood red sunrise ,
When the morning breaks ,
Pritty poses !

I did know
A pritty girl
whom had wings
not like an angel
they did not spring from her back
like most do
But I like her dance of words
even if her wings are below

I am a songless bird in vibrant colours. Raspy, breathy sounds at best.
If I could, I would gladly lull you with melodious renderings.

Sorry Princes, the bird that does not sing
but is good.

A Crow landed  in a field of snow ,
Only for a moment ,
Lay a golden ball behind it .
It's. Sun lit Ray's cast its light on this field of snow ,
With only an trees of Oak to hide it .

Jingle Bells  a **** Santa sells in shops all set for Christmas ,
With halo lights and tinsel ,
With too much beer ,
hell. draws near ,
and the tinsel town with its bright pritty lights ,
Sees. Sirens and sick men spewing in a gutter.

A winters blast of times long past ,
In Ashfords streets. Rattling cans ,
and Street grinders. , Santa Claws and slay.
pray happy tunes for weary souls
on a cold winters day .


Yet in 1898 the Americans mined for Gold ,
The Chilkoot. trail ,
Or the White pass ,
Ones hell ,
the others destruction .,

Which ever which way you'll  wish you took the other .
Men's dreams of paradise would perish in the snow

Now a Cross of Roman wood outside a City gate for the Son of man did wait ,
Where blood trickled down from a thorny Crown ,
Unto Goblets made for thankful souls ,
for mans sin would be dealt with in just one day ,
To appease Gods holy wrath .

At dockers gate a man did wait and was crushed for want of bread ,
For God so loved ,
his only Son ,
to die on Roman wood .
For what hell could not hold ,
Paradise would enfold ,
Fountains of grace for many .,
Who turn from their sin ,
and trust in him.
For the Sun will rise on golden fields of green ,
and harvest souls where Crows once fed on soil fit for a King .
.

". Come with me , come come ". ( giggle )
Her hand stretched out , it ' l. be fun , !  

My heart is now encased on my mantelpiece next to a fetching
Red rose .
How pritty in bloom ,
Yet cut from its roots does it not perish and die ?
Like the soul of man were starved of love would it not like a flower
In a vase but cut off from its maker . ?
For in life how fleeting is breath ,
for God has taken to find eternal rest .
A ticking of a clock ,
the hour hand passes twelve. for if we fear time what s. Left is only
the absence of light .

My hearts on my mantelpiece  I left it there it's so full of pride .
I left it there as it was full of love and beauty ,
and full of patience and kindness .

Yet I raced in speeding cars through burger bars  ,
swigged Champagne and snorted ******* ,
Caught a rail road train half way to paradise .

Now my hearts dying and my love has grown cold .

The telegram man on his Nobel steed stand before me ,
with his letter of death ,
My condemned dammed soul if that letter I take in driving bitter rain.

What hope have I that I should ever die to gain nothing better than
This ?
........

Another Telegram man appeared on a mountain far away
a ray of light that caught my eye on that mountain far away ,
Where green fields and water ran like steams of living gold ,
and I saw a broken heart ,
and a ****** cross ,
and bracken  a steep hill and a long rugged road
and a hand so scared from a Roman nail stretched out with a staff ,
and a beautiful heart .
" Follow me "

There once lied a sleeping town ,
were no hens layed their eggs on the ground.
There were no carts filled with grain ,
off to the market on this harvest day .

No barking dogs ,
or crying child ,
or cockerels with a **** a doodle dooo !

Just the sound of the church bells ring ,
thankful to God for their harvest of wheat and corn .

Now the.men wore hats ,
the ladies pritty ribbons and bows .
The paster dressed in black ,
a long Cassock with piercing eye.

The congregation had the eyes of lambs ,
cought on every word ,
as nought could be heard .

The sermon was of sobering thought ,
that without Gods help we are but nought .
That angels might open dungeon cells
and the strange old lady down the road ,
dos’nt really consort with the dead ,
or so I’m told !

Now the preacher in black who was so brave ,
closed the Bible with a smile ,
which turned to a frown ,
for there were many souls to save .
“ Go in peace I wish you well ,
for there are many this day bound for hell .

The tins for the needy and the poor were simply stacked ,
with a ribbon and wreath ,
and delivered to open doors ,
even to the lady who didn’t smile ,
who fed the cat remains of ,
what ever lied in the dregs of the soup !

So when the last hymn was sung of poems of old of storms to come ,
and title waves ,
that lead the dead to run back to their graves ,
tea and cake was served to the ladies with ribbons and bows ,
and the gents with hats smoked and rubbed their chins .

Meanwhile an elderly gent waited by the gate ,
he had no friends ,
he didn’t go in ,
but waited for the wind to arrive .

He smiled as the first gust arrived ,
holding onto his hat just the same ,
he turned then walked home again.

Walking home late this afternoon ,
past O familiar streets and shops ,
past all too familiar faces ,
their completions tired and worn,
but they wore masks with smiling faces ,
as they all dragged behind their backs their  heavy loads
Their  coats and dressed torn ,
and they kept looking to the skies ,
as if for a sign which never came ,
to lighten their brand new morn .

It wasn’t dark yet ,
yet enough light not for me to fumble for a match to light my  candle ,
so to mark the way before my eyes .

But at this unGodly hour how life could suddenly change .?
For no man or child or lady would ever now be the same .

For a sneering darkness now covered this land ,
it’s clouds now formed likened to a doll like features ,
of staring eyes and porcline face .
It winked ,
then smiled ,
it’s deadly grin .
So  when they pulled their loads ,
they never gave in .






In labotories ,
in Petri dishes ,
under microscopic lens ,
It took to flight
and called them it’s friend .

But as ***** stalk their prey
Untill it’s nothing but skin and bone ,
this life form filled-the.  skies ,
as we mask our lives from its breath ,
we call death ,
Is hid before their eyes .

But only when the day gives up its fight ,
and men hold up lanterns ,
Which shed no light ,
and.  they return screaming back to their homes ,
only to wait for morning to lighten their loads .

And so in a land far away a little girl came in to play ,
she picked her doll up from the floor ,
then placed it in its doll house as it was before .
Just at that moment the sun came out ,
birds sang ,
as the crocus bloomed ,
In all its many colours .


And then I heard the first lark of spring ,
O what a pritty little thing
O what joys it brings,
as man gave up the loads he bore .,
and so they danced untill their feet were sore .

For there canst finds me no sweeter thing ,
than this little birds reward of spring .

Her eyes were sunken into the night ,
how once they lit up so bright ,
like the light of a thousand candles,
lifted high on a chandelier.

Once she glowed with an   inner light ,
of innocence cast into the night
a love that shone like a burning hue ,

and lived without a care .
She dressed in what her mother gave her ,
her ever loving mother though could not save her ,
for her mother left ,
when she fell for a sailor .
so then she dressed for whoever she liked
and so she came to answer to what ever name he gave her . fr.    Touted from dawn till  twilight ,
her eyes grew dim and their  lights burnt out .
Then one day she gave birth to her son ,
killed by her own hands ,
for it had to be done .
Cast aside ,
with not even a welfare state to provide,
Into a paupers  grave .
Her mother now all skin and bone
for morning afternoon breakfast  lunch ,
and a sip of gin ,
for every grin .

So she tied a ribbon to her hair ,
Which once was neat now ***** and black ,
But at least she looked pritty ,
for when the men came back .

So they dressed her in her favourite gown ,
with a daisy and a ribbon around her waste and hair ,
a nameless grave an empty mouth ,
but at last a. beautiful saviour ,
to meet her there .

A bird pecks on a window frame .
Across the room ,
there was a cage  ,
its bars were cruel ,
yet kept the warm sunlight    
that beamed across the room .
" Are you.alright ?
asked the bird ,
who was outside ,
not trapped by the bars ,
thar held the other bird inside .

" i have enough water and seed to
keep me fed
and a bell that hangs from
my roof that keeps me safe ,
when the cat comes out to play .
And the lady who is elderly ,
who pokes and stares and says "
" pritty polly "  as she pulls a face ,
then lights a cigarette in at the foot of the stairs .

And  i can still fly ,
as i move side to side.

And so the cat arrives and claws at
my cage ,
as  i sqork and flap with fists of rage .
And theres a mirror ,
that hangs by itself from above  ,
so i can still see if i am  still  in love "?

"Thats all very "well said the bird
from outside ,
but the skys are blue ,
they have awoken for spring
and your stuck inside
with a cat who cant sing.

The bird didnt wait for an answer ,
but when he returned ,
the budgie  ,
dropped dead from his perch ,
as his  cage was opened ,
the old elderly who by now was very frail ,
fed him to the cat ,
with its very long tail .

And so every night on her porch before ten ,
the cat who could now sing
with the old lady and her banjo,
They sat on a rocking chair
and sung to the birds ,
in the cool night air ,
O haven’t you heard ?

A fly  died in my bath today ,
a butterfly on the stairs
I know of not how or why ,
they had to die ,
O mournful s pity cry .
For  that what was flying about and knew that it must die, for it
in water it found not wings that it might fly ?
For  it was such a dainty pritty thing ,
O mournful pity’s cry !

Then as for the butterfly that fluttered for a time ,
that it held its wings in valor
to never give up the fight .
For I know not why ,
it even chose to die,
that I should weep for a butterfly ?


Was  it the stairwell  that gave it  it’s bars ,?
It’s lack of light
and pouted air ?

to what even brought it here ?
Or why it felt it had to die ?
O mournful pity’s cry .


It is these things that trouble me most ,
that of all of Gods creation he might boast ,
that he God made such fastidious  things as these .
That  flies might  scavage and feast on rotting flesh ,
that the butterfly and flower should dare with paint
and brush colour Gods earth with love for us .

That one should be so hated ,
the other loved beyond belief ,
yet both had their part to play ,
‘ that a fly might even cry ,
for the loss of its lover as it was passing by ,
that it should find no other,
then die .

I shall wait beside you’re coffin my love ,
ready for you to rise above ,
ready for you to spread you’re wings ,
above the dust and all mortal things .

For you were taken from me my dear ,
for if only sickness could have waited another year ?

Now daisies   ripe upon  the earth arise above and all around .
The bell above you’re head I left for you to ring ,
makes but not a sound !

For the foxes howl yet eary scream above you’re grave ,
is most sereal .

And the rodents that  sharpen their tiny teeth on you’re slab
are drawn by the smell of you’re rotting flesh ,
and  feverishly naw at thy  stone instead  .

Now the rain drops a patter ,
for now it won’t matter ,
one drop after another ,
upon you’re grave .
Can you hear them falling ,?
It can wait until morning,
for  the dust clouds are forming ,
calling for my Daisy above her pritty head .


For if the body snatchers come ,
I shall shoot them down one by one .

And if some fine gentleman should share you’re grave ,
I shall make sure he has washed and shaved .

And if you’re ghost should ever flee ,
hail me down a carriage so I might follow thee .
And if that bell should ever ring ,
let it be not the winds that blow it still ,
upon thy beating breast .

The curtains are drawn ,
no one wakes ,
the nights are long as the wolf lies in wait ,
for and when the sun burns out it’s days
the world will  be a happier place .

For no one dares now to venture out ,
their doors are shut ,
and are all bolted up .

And on the hearth a boiling stew ,
of rabbit or what ever runs and crawls ,
they will catch that  to.

Fasten down the bales in the wind,
for everything moves and nothing is still .

And if the winds die down for a while
the frost will bight ,
and break the bones of this  bitter night .
for  nothing is gained by the watch mans light .

Then when  the wolves and dogs will catch your hens ,
don’t fall asleep ,
to their wailing ends,
with flint lock poised ,                                                                ­             fo for the dead can’t awaken the wolf’s crafty stare ,
and pritty soon your hens won’t be there.!

And yes the nights will shorten soon ,
for one day they will end ,
and your crops will one day dance in your meadows again

My Aunty Jane once possessed a cuckoo clock ,
as two little boys we watched it chime ,
holding our ice creams ,
bought for fifty pence .
I forgot about the panda cars and aunts cups of tea ,
and for a moment the cuckoo struck ,
it struck for me .

Cuckoo,
Cuckoo it sang with all its might ,
gracefully.
And  pritty soon the dancing girls came out ,
they turned and turned untill Jack came too .

And so I was sent to some far away place ,
with long green grass and meadows grazed ,
and where my little sister was nowhere to be seen ,
somewhere hiding in the apple green .

A long pole were girls went round ,
and didn’t stop ,
they wore masks to hide their faces ,
but they took me to far away places ,
playing hide and seek in the apple yard .


And still round and around they went ,
such was their contempt ,
then much to my lament ,
as i tried to leave ,

they drew me in ,
untill their childish games began .
My ice cream now was on the floor .

The  cuckoo clock chimed once more ,
my mummy said “ what a mess you have made “ .

Home I went wothout tea or cake ,
and sent to bed ,
oh for pity’s sake !
My sister walked in slammed the door ,
with Berlinda in hand and ,
with a smiling face said
“ you won’t see you’re toys no more “ .

Act one is the timeless joy of the hope that a new life brings,
before the curtain falls .
When everything is possible to a world that’s lost in sin .
When innocence is lost you can  stray too far from home ,

so  nothing is as it seems ,
and you wonder where the clowns have gone ?
They just hide behind their sneering smiles ,
and life in all its gawdy ness is now where You think you belong .?

But Those   pritty looks and charming smiles  are now ruin to a bottle of gin ,and life’s great act just wanders on again and again and again .

But the final act has yet to come you must enter the stage once more ,
the tyranny of modern man .
For life's  great highways seem far away ,
as you have walked where the snake and cockroaches gather their nests in empty doorways along your way .

And all you have is  six shillings to last you through the night ,
unless you flutter your eyelids to that gentleman ,
for your lodgings for he will gladly pay .
And yet each day goes on as summer follows spring ,
as the seasons morph into most glorious days .
Man with all his struggles does the best he can ,
for he was never asked if he wanted to live or die ,
yet here he is awoken to a screaming babies cry.

I once had a wife who went down to the river to wash my clothes,
she dressed in red and had a funny shaped nose .
One day when i was still at home ,
she left with my washing to walk down to the brook ,
her red dress grew heavy so much she stumbled and fell ,
so  under she went as she sank like a stone .


The current was swift she knocked her head on a rock ,
and that was the last time I saw her pritty red frock !
She drowned that morning,
with the birds in full song ,
nothing else could be heard ,
she always said she wouldn’t be long .

The last time I saw her she nearly choked by the fire ,
she always complained those flames are getting higher .

And now I need to build a chimney now won’t that be grand .
Our good king hath decreed  it’s the law of the land .
But at least I won’t get syphilis now that she is dead ,
and at last I can sleep alone in my four poster bed .

For tomorrow I shall rise and leave for the door ,
and draw some cold water something I’d  never done before .
Down to the river where my woman died ,
and if I die with her at least I shall be by her side .