The Deeds

The rhythm wasn’t composed by the savant Some nocturnal churnings handed over those tunes through gremlins Strolling down the ancient cobbled pavements, keeping an eye on sleepless souls There’s certainly some magic in the air Not one that is imagined by the purist magician, but of some devious wizard Tap, tap, tap, comes strolling the words for the epitaph Of fallen dreams and jealous pursuits … Continue reading The Deeds