Lyric № 6420
The Crutchling
In the corner of the inn
Squats a Crutchling, brown and thin.
If you would stay away from sin,
Stay far away from Crutchling.
His crutches, rotted 'way from age,
Fill good men's hearts with holy rage.
But e'en the oldest, boldest sage
Dares not confront the Crutchling.
And despite his dying, withered bum,
He hobbles swift. Beware, my son!
Ask not for whom the Crutchling limps;
He limps for thee.
If you but glance, you won't escape
His silken eyes and gilded nape,
And trapped beneath that stain-ed cape,
You'll always serve the Crutchling.
And so, my friends, be warned by me:
Although he scratches for his tea,
And limply licks his swollen knee,
He's naught but naughty Crutchling!
9 comments
3)i never said that i was a "street poete" u did dik.
4)you shouldn't take your homosexual misinterpertation out on the fetus's, we need that stuff for hair conditioner and science and other highly honorable causes.
(what # am i on..oh)
5)your uncle told me about steve. I'm sorry..i lend my sorrow to your grief. he was well hung and will be missed around the baths. ciao darling..
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