Monday, December 14, 2009

Fallen Angels

Fallen angels took a ride

Lost in their compass

Feeling grievous

That they knew not the specks in the sky


So they tried to talk about the fuck at the fairground

Who claimed he was

Born somewhere around 1882

He said he'd pony up and ride to the ends of his eyes

And he'd pray for us.


At the guardhouse near the shore

Joe was defeated, a goat de-bleated

Silent like when you knew him before

And we knew he'd quit the ride

He was responding to the world's despondence

And gave in to the Great Divide


So we played it on hope, we slept and awoke

And we merged into the ways

Of the heft and the grunt

Of the filthy ol' mutts

And stopped trying to find our way

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