in the thorn valley where
the trees are made of needles
and the rivers are made of
fire i saw a man walk once
without breaking his stride
humming a tune something about
the blues

the

blues

got him through the valley
and i thought to myself that
i would one day endeavour
through said valley and maybe
sing a tune but i figured
i’d have to put it off ’till
i found a suitable song
to sing