Thursday, April 28, 2011


In the land of the Boulevard
And with it, its setting sun,
Arose this man.

A chance was all he hoped,
a moment in god's forsaken time.
Lost in a chance he forgot to store,
This maniac of the wild.

Screams, shouts and screams!
Yelping to the grave, ran did he.
Twas his story, twas his name;
He cared not to say or be.

A single line did he sing,
This simple melody.
He knew not of winters,
Nor rabbit holes for hidding did he seek.

He came out and forever
Sang this song of misery.