Pan mattress, pan spang,
pan bang,
Perdoneme, pardon
me.
He’s got a rich cover
Lines made of wine
To cover his bed with
And pull in the line
And unties his bow strings
Of bathrobe & gore,
His plue pajamas
Poaping
around all that
gore
His feet clean & shiny
Like askin for more
154th Chorus
© Copyright: Джек Керуак, 2011
Свидетельство о публикации №111102409349
Свидетельство о публикации №111102409349
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