04-22-2016, 07:49 PM
Ripped leather flowers
They sat like buried florists
faded aprons under gypsofilia
drinking beer from vases,
tributes to another road-rash.
But the petals lose their colour
and your photograph fades
like the sepia memories
they try to crayon in each year.
Swapped stories
pedalled like trading cards,
old bikers stuck in slip-road ruts.
You wont find me there
throwing posies at your feet
or nailed on a lamppost cross
wearing that crown of roses.
What's that you say boys?
yes, back in the day boys.
Maybe I did sell out, but its late
and I'm not your mate,
so ask me again about our friend
and I'll tell you how it really ends.
They sat like buried florists
faded aprons under gypsofilia
drinking beer from vases,
tributes to another road-rash.
But the petals lose their colour
and your photograph fades
like the sepia memories
they try to crayon in each year.
Swapped stories
pedalled like trading cards,
old bikers stuck in slip-road ruts.
You wont find me there
throwing posies at your feet
or nailed on a lamppost cross
wearing that crown of roses.
What's that you say boys?
yes, back in the day boys.
Maybe I did sell out, but its late
and I'm not your mate,
so ask me again about our friend
and I'll tell you how it really ends.
If your undies fer you've been smoking through em, don't peg em out