Its dark tonight rain falling on a negative country street
the shadow comes first looming from a corner of the road
he moves aside quickly out of the way, out of sight as a car light moans past
his broken being. He is not seen.
The night is now his profession steering through survivals mud and torment,
he moves in the now calm ego of coming thunder,
but he was something big in the sixties.
Immune from torn emotion and the sharp spikes of, ‘outrageous fate’
he marks the day with nostalgia, but, in someone other than him…..
The beating of great bells in his head call out to a drunken infinity,
Day of nothing, nowhere new to tread
but, he was something big in the sixties
The Juke box moon and strange stars play the fab four song
blind with the blood of the past he walks to their Rhythm
he prays to the king but Elvis is more asleep than he is
Whizz bang thoughts battle in his head
But he was something big in the Sixties
