Bohemian Story
Your dad was a clown
your mother was rich
Your brother refused you
and tortured your fish
You cried like an orphan
and saved up your tears
You bought a small plane
which you flew in for years
Your friends were invited
to the edge of the knife
But cautious they were
and squeamish with heights
So you started a band
with your Gibson guitar
A three-piece ensemble
complete with a bar
You played for sinners
at the Cathedral Hotel
You threw them a halo
you hung from a bell
You invented a tune
you concocted a drink
The muses were summoned
back from the brink
Your audience saddled
on your beast of lament
The riders all wheezing
the countryside bent
The tempest came on
the acid kicked in
The airstream of karma
was under your wing
The women fell sideways
you averted their glare
You sang like and angel
as if you weren't there
I can still see you now
on the roof of your car
In your hand a canary
in your lips a cigar
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poem by James Kendrick
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