Granted reality is infinite
And nothing be added nor subtracted from it
This little town drowsy and rainy
Is for the scriber of these verse
In no derogatory way of course
As good a hiding place as any
Outside conveniently there’ll always be fog
Door’ll have a peephole but be missing a lock
On rare occasions when snow does fall
Gods in detached manner inform
That time’s run out and now in turn
You’re no longer wanted, not wanted at all
Still paying utility bills is a must
It being self-explanatory I trust
Otherwise mundane obligations are none
Moreover are quite unnecessary
Figments of old vocabulary
Wife, mistress, comrade, son
Bottle of wine a day…or two
Sometimes get a letter others the flu
The Will all along might have been free
If there is no death what’s the use of a spade
Mistakes it seems were meant to be made
You’re now alone as alone can be
