Category: poetry

  • The bottom of the bottle

    I don’t want to beat this bush no moreI drink too much, you’re right I’m sureBut wear my shoes and look aroundI’ve lots of friends, most…underground.The good, the great, the dads the sonsThe mates I’ve loved, the other ones.The fleet of moment by their sidesThe brave where cowards run and hide.Their cries for help are… →