Human faces seemingly melt into one Common mass of tiresome redundancy Assumed shallow uniqueness aside This weary traveler stares down quotidian eyes Nary a soul surprises this ol' Trudging curmudgeon sans permanent home Many a den probed and slipped in To enter one is to taste of all men Jointly reviled though distant by miles These bipedal rats still elicit a smile
Don the misanthropic lorgnette Staining rose-colored humanistic sight
At the time of this writing Who knows where I will be? The hell of other people spurs My inveterate wandering If alienation is a phase Here's one to last me to the grave I cast off their surface repose Mine lies inside wherever I may roam
To shed all trace of purgatorial comfort Must perplex the breed indeed Swift dip; ousted; always on merry way Ventured into desirable wilds Coppice of old, the millpond so cold Case for traversing perennial road Its natural song quelling the throng Keeps your humble author moving along Just a black-clad vagabond Taking a stroll in the dark dead of night
On a pilgrimage of sorts for yours truly
Not of this race or world
[Aaron solo]Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
