Massey Man
Johnclarestokes
Oh the fling always seems a justified thing
Tiring of all the pesky promising
Rid this from the kitchen to the bed
No night visions of spiders in the head
You bask in views from shrubbery cut
You roam rooms long since shut
It's all a beautiful fling
But soon the old familiar comes creeping
Massey was not all he seemed
You suspect a dilution in the poison
You yearn for the formulations of old
The sticky strips laid upon the threshold
Massey but a shell of his former self
Soon you find yourself in yellowed pages
It's the story of the suburban for ages
Soon its for old Otto you're longing
Silverwing's dancing in the stainless sink again.
Rosy Maple Moth
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