Blues core. 

Underneath us all is a blues core 

those penny standards we drip feed 

tastes of originality scrubbing decks 

When on the ropes we skipped sipping 

back on Japanese Black tea.

your miss the days when cadaver chased 

the waves Send my love to cemetery’s.


Biggest clock brothel custodian of mohair

Coat established the commune of new names 

Since the first invaders saw the salt line 



the transported danced the rope lines 

out of towns.