(It sounds better with a fake English accent with a little theatrics),
There he goes again,
Gamboling across the endless moors,
Of Baccarat and endless circlings of random hounds,
Led by the marbles lost inside.
Starlit mires tempt and sway,
With delicate dreams of misery;
Listlessly, melodically, but with rhythm.
Prophecies drift from within,
The travesty of chips and whores,
Lost and lingering, wallowing,
In the lost fountain of youth and decay.
Courted by free drinks and compliments,
Singing bedtime stories of yesterday,
As they're led away.
There he goes again.
2007-06-28
16:28:04
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5 answers
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asked by
Anonymous