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'The Sevens'

Updated on August 29, 2013

"Sitting at a Pub"


'The Sevens"

Hangin' at 'The Sevens'

Without a care in the world

The atmosphere's dank

As the beers are hurled

Straight down the gullet

Like water into wine

I dig my wallet

For some more of the kind

That represents me

Two lips converge

On the edge of a glass

Depriving the scourge

That will not last--

An empire

That twisted before--

Forgive me Sire

A land evermore

The bets are laid

And the streets are combed

Whatever was said

We are what we own

Therefore on my stool

I feel gravity's might

On another Pink Moon

Harvesting my sight.

-Mike Head 5/1/13



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