Where the grass grows tall is where I lie

Pondering things laid ahead

I am supine and drunk on Rye,

Don’t think I made my bed

Though the marsh’s sweaty fields supreme,

I felt but never knew it

And all the days blend in like dreams

You’ll rid the world of nuisance

So cock the barrel back once more,

I know that you will pull it

Cause in the end I’m just a whore

and you adorn the pulpit

Written by

Writer, Artist, Poet, Dummy

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