I met the drummer from a bum Greek band, who said:
"Two vast and ugly crooked women stand on the pavement.
Near them, by the waste, blind drunk, a plastered vagrant lies,
Whose frown and wrinkled lip, and beer in bleeding hand,
Tell that the liquorÂ’s rendered passion dead,
One cannot thrive existing on the fringe".
"Untutor'd youth, thou art yet wise", I said.
And from the cavity, these slurs appear:
"My name is Alan Bagshaw, king of kings,
look on my clothes ye cleanly, and beware!"
After a while it rains. Round the display of that bacchanal wreck,
Engaged in prayer, the lone unsavoury bawds had nill to say.
A satirical modern take on Percy Byshe Shelly's classic, 'Ozymandius'. Any takers?
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