the blues empire

I got
me a lonely plot

and I built it.

from column a to column b,
rolled out like a canopy,
the monopoly on misery,
the blues empire.

girls up against words,
TKO-no-contest.

I was here first
with trademarked hurts,
copyrighted curses

and verses
with patent pending.

reserves of misery
that are never ending.

and I,
I will stick my oar in.

and send my profits soaring.
soaring,
soaring,
ssssoaring.

the sun hit bellecour, rifles won't stop singing. j. moulin, nuns and monks offer themselves to the ether and "blue eyes" won't stop stinging. the rudderless plebs of the provinces. we tried to forget, but the scars won't let us, or the books. and so was born his generation's loudest voice, a word carpenter. sat next to an empty seat forever, staring into the irish sea forever, wondering if his…heroes ever felt like this.

pretence, pretence, pretence, to clearing out his desk. reduced to selling his bottled sweat on the internet. he's in his 3rd choice home talking loudly for everyone, sipping tapwater, straddling the typewriter. and when he's done his rotten, his rotting soul, smashes into the s..southern pole. and there..he ..thaws the….icecaps…….thawss., glacier NOIr and glacier..er ..bLanche,
and the rest of em.

it was blues man, it was blues.