Sunday, October 24, 2010

the son ov a bitch is finally free

 


I drink my coffe black
I'm not good at most things
but what I do well,I do very well
It promises me you will always come back
I don't like taffy,it's too sweet
I'm rarely hungry yet I eat
I prefer winter,I can't stand the heat
When I first saw you,I hit the streets
Carry your photo in my pocket
Such pretty skin,hair as red as a rocket
You could be in magazines
I'll clip your photos when I'm locked in
A thousand hours for evey sin
Nothing is really dear to me
Nothing is what I long to be
Nothing is God not even the sea
I sneeze,my eyes water
Watermelon flavored medicine
Cures anything,and seconds befoe I fall asleep
I hear my dead father sing.

Alfred Huete
12 October,2010

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