Leather Jacket, Master Old, ljóð frá 26. september 2020.

Do I love her, day?

Darlings ain't so nice at all!

Something more to say?

So we're bound to fall!

 

Rather nice she rolls,

roles of losing bigger hype.

Funny how she falls,

for the wronger type.

 

Lonely, so they say,

leather jacket, master old.

Drilling for the day,

dropping shoes and gold.

 

Lady of the luck,

like the sickness going round.

Born to lose a buck,

better find a hound.

 

Something must you say,

show the house and make her dwell.

Stronger women stay,

still they fall to hell.

 

Too old? Tell me why...

Types are better this way, see...

Dust on windows dry,

dwell there always free!

 

Ever find it all?

Everything will show the curse.

Go and get it, fall!

Goes from bad to worse!

 

Still it's pleasure, play!

Party, drinking, women true!

Something good to say,

she will come to you!