Monday, April 11, 2011


Here comes the black dog again.
The brute's a bulldog off his chain.
Yes here comes deep depression again
like a heavy dark cloud in the brain.
Winston Churchill had his black dog
for want of another name,
and the comic Spike Milligan -
no laughing matter - had the same.
When that dog is on the loose
it runs down the hall of fame
as well as down the city street
and down the country lane.
Who says right as rain?
Who says right as rain?!!

I am now older than your age
as I look back to your age when
I was just a teenager
and you the older woman.
But oh we had fun.
Oh yes we had fun.
No you didn't lead me along,
dear Dorothy. Dot on the horizon.

He was setting sail to nowhere,
or to nowhere in particular.
He was leaving it to chance
was the strange-navigator.
Or leaving it to the Fates
that one day he'd find her
beyond the seas of octopus.
Perhaps in the land of the hydra?

But oh what monstrous dreams
and oh what a drunken sailor
who struggled with his loss
like the Moby Dick impaler.
The man promised his girl the moon
and so was to fail her.
Now he's out on a limb
like the limb-lost whaler.

My girl's the shape
of an hour-glass,
and time with her
I love to pass.

Time passes swiftly
you'll understand,
that is the nature
of the shifting sand.

With a wavy-sea-of-hair
she walks along the street.
The men gaze like sharks
at a tasty-treat.

The Thai-girl bounces
down to the beach.
The men's eyes surely follow
till she's far beyond reach.

Her face was wet with tears
and he, being wet behind the ears,
didn't see her tears were fake,
or that from the waist downwards
she sure had the tail of a water-snake.

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