Always faced by what’s between my ears.
There’s an insistent whirr—vibrations reaching me
through the air, and I’m trying to think what
it could be. A hummingbird?
Too loud for that—an intoned word?
Maybe the clang of a struck sword
whose note will ring forever, thread
even the daylight can’t sever
There’s an insistent whirr—vibrations reaching me
through the air, and I’m trying to think what
it could be. A hummingbird?
Too loud for that—an intoned word?
Maybe the clang of a struck sword
whose note will ring forever, thread
even the daylight can’t sever
Proud Molly
I got a notch on my pistol,
but there was a catch—
I was too deep in dutch
to You-Know-Who. She scotched on me.
OK, I’ll say who when
I’m marching to the scaffold, my old match
Molly there to watch. And I’ll say,
“Molly, aint’ch...?”
I got a notch on my pistol,
but there was a catch—
I was too deep in dutch
to You-Know-Who. She scotched on me.
OK, I’ll say who when
I’m marching to the scaffold, my old match
Molly there to watch. And I’ll say,
“Molly, aint’ch...?”
