Tossed fore aft in transit, carried from quays
Like keys of coke on Florida’s mangrove coasts
Assure the boss it’ll be OK
Bill a Jay so I don’t go mad
On the bay knowing how Basanio felt
But know exactly why I’m sad
Sitting on the dock of the bay, all day
Awaiting my payday, payload on wave foam
Boss is on the phone
Blower blowing up like challenger one
Engineer must have picked up a banshee’s comb
I’m old in wise ides, my ideas are lights
Wisecrack my way through strifes
Cracking smiles
My mask cracks, slips
My guiles numerous as my wiles
Astral projecting so often I get air miles.
Alchemisland 
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