Category: Filí my pockets
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O’rion
Irish tyrant Big iron for try hards My contents a hit parade Your oeuvre not worth its paper Your countenance like hit grenade. Boyne maps Orion All my toil and trying fruitless Like burnt Eden, smile toothless Tore out Ruth’s book, I’m ruthless Routes to my roots with each toot Die in my boots.
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Milly
Swear to Crom Selling a million copies Sell every crumb of that crop Package vanished like a ghost in aspect Table set, dead air Broke my fast on the Marie Celeste.
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headaround
You going around my head like I was putting on my jumper Like a hangman’s noose, hearing the final trumpet You click I move; you Geppetto, me the puppet.
Alchemisland 