Valley of the Trolley Dollies

Someone always ends up hurt,

Broken and afraid.

Still, we tell the piper play

Though he’s not been paid.

Your baggage is a wife and child

I have my own shit

So the music starts; we dance.

No good can come of it.

This entry was posted on Monday, January 14th, 2008 at 4:46 pm and is filed under Fiction etc.. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Responses are currently closed, but you can trackback from your own site.