The Drought we will eat well from the bounty drink the wine and smoke the sweetest smoke in the clouds the horses have run their race, the charge up the backstretch was uninspired, New York groaned and the whole World echoed their complaint the multitude of wan faces lined the pavilion like cardboard cut-outs every face is empty like the lost souls in old black and white portraits the race is lost, mankind is lost. the people file out morose as cattle, their necks measured for the slaughterhouse we will drink profoundly fathoms into the murky starless night, there is no joy in the Americas tonight there is no King to wear the shiny Crown
Posted on: Sun, 08 Jun 2014 20:48:45 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015