Bury me besides James Joyce
In a hollowed common grave.
I have seen the world pass by,
I have seen it fade away.
And whenever things go blind
There's a flicker at the end;
But it's not the other side,
Just a locomotive's head.
Bury me with Dylan Thomas,
I don't care the way I go.
Gently, violently, apathetic,
These are but metaphors of
Senses that can't be described
Senses that cannot be shared.
There is just one common feeling,
Angst of being in this world,
Where we have no common purpose
To surrender or prevail.
To the bootlegers who outsmarted Prohibition agents on this day 1928.