Every week he travelled East looking for a sign. Held out for some direction at the end of the line.”I’m tire’d of chasing tail. Oh won’t somebody chase mine”. He sighed as he hit the road on more time.
There was something in the routine that was bringing him down. Weren’t just the grind was in his free time he found. “I’ve got all these bloody vices and no females around. He sighed as he hit the road homeward bound.
“The romance” he thought, “of packing it all in. I’ll spare you all the sorry bits and tell you where I’ve been”.
This week he’ll break the mould and grow. Take it in and make it rhyme. He sighed as he hit hit road one more time.
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