The Organ grinder...inside my head...looks across, at my old friend King Canute and sighs a relief that another working day begins to turn to dust as me myself sigh also, at no longer having to play the bouncing monkey for at least a few hours.Together all three of us sit on the shore line and wonder why the tide never turned for my old friend King Canute all those Centuries ago. I wonder how the world would have been if so..would we the great unwashed still be chasing the pennies thrown to us,the doth of the cap in gatitude or perhaps we sigh behind the mask, just wafting the breeze as the butterflies in their brief freedom flutter.
The blank screen sighs also, for gods sake what is this mad transvestite warbling about now..what indeed is it playing with words on todays virgin screen. I have been called many things in all the summers i have walked across this planet alas IT..has not been one of them and so time to throw poo sticks retreat from the brash bash spilt condom havoc melted out in a poor excuse to myself one of the great unwashed by those whom deem to have melted from time,forgotten roots, when the Rolling Stones first strutted way back in 1962 all that rebel war cry now some 50 years old and still the great unwashed cannot gain entrance to the Sweetie Jar of Brown Sugar...and this could be the last time which is perhaps my favourite track to sift across my ears.So goeth...