A Marlborough Pub TaleThe day began as all days do: with sun So lightly, sweetly gilded as to shun The melancholy dark. But all days end In twilit smoke that, lonely, finds a friend In forlorn ghosts of shadows. Burnt-out time – When butts are ash and I’ve drunk too much wine – Finds me at the gloomiest of places, Where the murk is dank with strangers’ faces. In from streets where shadows darkly muster (The hour grows late, or early) the lusterA Marlborough Pub Tale
Of lamplight falls like dust upon the floor. Then, silhouetted in the open door Are sober eyes I’ve never seen before –
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"Making the world a better place, one delusion at a time."
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I recently heard about a mass murderer who killed seventeen people in three days... they say he was a loner. Well, of course he was. He apparently killed everyone he came in contact with!
- George Carlin
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