previous  |  main  |  index  |  next

November 23, 2002 angels want to pass me by When winter's cold makes gray the sky, And breath is naught but mist, The angels want to pass me by,  And leave me to get pissed. The time of year is black and white,  Like some old photograph, And saints are culled from sybarites, As wheat is from the chaff.

©  2002 by the beastmaster