Rest beneath the Yew a while

hear Blackbird song and Thrushel flow,

you walked your long last lonely mile

to where all pilgrims surely go.

Be in your peace caressed by soil

return to life again from dust,

no winter freeze nor harvest spoiled

too harsh to quiet the springtime thrush.

Stone Cherubs pluck their rain-stained harps

the petal wilts as petals do,

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Gun in the fridge

the strangest thing

now it's just full of

Vodka and Gin

Gun in the fridge

belt buckle checks

burst ear drums

bodies and wrecks

Gun in the fridge

drive round again

buckshee rounds

in a bag in a drain

Gun in a fridge

don't carry ID

over the river

in the place they call free

Gun in the fridge

thank fuck I've...

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