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Come all ye sad and wishin'
For an honest politician
For a dearth of corporate bandits
In a non-apocalyptic planet
Come all those whose fevers
And built-in sound receivers
Can only be corrected
With a potent Pigott dose injected.
Copyright C 2006 Oliver Pigott. All Rights Reserved. Violation of copyright will result in a swift kick in the pants.
End Of An Empire By Oliver Pigott
Eleven o'clock knocked something loose in the old boy. Things weren't right,
and he knew and she knew. His worn boot kicked up some dust around the
dilapidated rural front porch, then a long, heavy breath. Shep-that's what the
fellas over at The Crazy Coot called him-Shep hadn't been all there since
he'd started in reading some things. Seemed nothing got a soul further down
than reading things. The men made war and the rich ate the poor and he just
kept swinging those same saloon doors back and forth and it all got tangled
up in the same big old flag and all he could count on was the Jim Beam and
nicotine and aw hell-there was always Oliver Pigott.
Copyright C 2006 Oliver Pigott. All Rights Reserved. Violation of copyright will result in a swift kick in the pants.
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