Alchemisland

There are reckonings but mostly nothing happens We’re not here to be happy This is a barrel, we’re all crabs And that harrying wind you hear; hark, ‘tis laughter For starters it’s the wrong tree you’re barking after Price’s right Mr Barker Writing a diary like J Harker Y’all hearken, that’s my spark.

Rows of vented tents, no Oxegen fest Pressing, trying to get fent since twenty ten Go where they’re deprived, on permanent Lent, act heavensent First one’s free, a friendly lend Next one’s hundreds, thousands then Twenties full send, lighthouse family how we drove around the bend Rolled tighter than a goose end Endless bender but…

Contrary to my shop inventory and professed affairs I’ve never sold rock That plot’s invented to get them staring But truths plenty therein If you can split hairs, no heroin Still, plenty shares in grows no roses  No guns, but I’m not opposed to blowing Out someone’s soul, just to see where it goes Guns…

It’s a definite maybe, found my oasis On that train, one made of gravy Little Engine That Could, as told by Major Payne Carriage opposite they’re staring like I’m a painting, apparently My snakeskins on the table, blowing doja not caring Nothing askew or astray, not a hair, clearly I’m the heir apparent Hair’s not…

Strange people from the mountains and valleys come into town Once or twice a month to shop, to chat, to lounge around In slop stained tops Perhaps sink a pint, or two, in Black Tom’s flophouse Grousing on, worried about foreigners moving down.