From the Poetry of Rags
Under this bridge I sit and watch,
Year, after year, after year,
With a bottle of lukewarm scotch
Such a sight to cause me fear.
Year, after year, after year,
With a bottle of lukewarm scotch
Such a sight to cause me fear.
Like a black-winged omen in flight,
Blotting out the autumn sun,
They croak of death and endless night
And I silence them with rum.
Blotting out the autumn sun,
They croak of death and endless night
And I silence them with rum.
Under this bridge I sit and drown,
Silencing their elegy,
Yet I fear that Hope Parish town
Knows not their dark strategy.
Silencing their elegy,
Yet I fear that Hope Parish town
Knows not their dark strategy.
