A ship off of this planet,
An ark where the blues could show
Its other face,
A street where you could walk,
Just walk without dogged air at
Your heels, at your back, don't
You think he'd choose it?
Meanwhile, here's the tune:
Bad luck, empty pockets,
Trouble walking your way
With his tin ear.
Written by Cornelius Eady
<----> SEND THIS POEM TO A FRIEND! <---->