That poor old Jacob
He did well- Ladders
And climbed up steeples
To fetch pale bladders
But his foot got caught,
He came with splatters
Now the entire
Town of Malesejyru
Feared the old ladders
But we needed them-
Our haciendas!
And so with fervor
With stacks of new bricks
Did we use to climb
Up, up, up, up, up
So that way we would
Not end up like poor
Jacob
The town held him in their memory
Their tongues all feeding from the pulpit
Where sins are cooked and good men get sick
Where the solar rays lose all hope, yay!
Goodbye, poor Jacob.
YOU ARE READING
Incoherent Poetry from the Depths
Horror(The painting in the cover is by painter Nicola Samori) Do y'ever just wish to feel the chills of the ethereal down your spine? Have you wondered what life is like outside your material universe? Did you ever posit the idea, that a good bout of uns...
