“O’look at the time”

Sedated, the mundane days bleed into the weekends

Satire keeps the regulars around, until the clock tick tock’s around

Twelve, the shell of a night, where was I going? No where

Dry pages beneath cracking finger tips, shift from lazy to a stampede

Moon light was the adrenaline for the imagination to wisp awake

Owls, stars, bats, and bars; the night life was as offbeat as I

Fly Marty, aint nothing left but to try, but remember, eighty-eight!

O’look at the time, I’m late again; my friend, forgive me, I must be gone

 

 

 

 

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