GinasCaravan
A sailor and a gypsy walk in to a bar…
You’ll Catch Your Death
The water through the rocks,
sifting the silt and mud.
Runs over her toes half exposed.
No blood left, flesh rotted from the bone.
But, noone can escape the smell.
If you are lucky, you’ll go way before you get old.
The soul rotted from the inside, but who can really tell.
The smell though. That is what we know.
Going out to the water and rocks. You’ll catch your death below.
GinasCaravan 