Posted on Sep 10, 2011 in
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Flying
Billy Falcon
The poet just stands there, watchin’ life drag itself by
Tryin’ to squeeze a rhyme out of what’s makin’ him cry
He steals from your mouth; he steals from your eyes
Takes what’s dull and dirty, and pours you some wine
He listens like a safe crack for the tumblers to slot
When he...