Vacuum-Packed for Fuckness

Imagine you own a farm - a chicken farm say.

Every day you produce a certain amount of eggs.

Every day you go out and gather the eggs,

putting each one carefully into its carton pack.

You sprinkle some more nice feed for the hens,

place all your eggs into the van  then off into town.

Life is good, you whistle to yourself as you drive,

through the splashy potholes, over fox and fen.

But you arrive in town, to find it's all closed down,

never was, never were - no-one ever seen.

You wander round, calling names aloud

but no resound - even echoes don't respond.

Finally you have no choice, the town is void

you give up and go home.

The next day then you do the same again,

and the same void meets you there.

And the next day, and the next day after

always smiling, always meeting the void.

Until the day comes when you can smile no more

Your van stinks of rotten eggs.

THIS IS MY LIFE AS A SONGWRITER / COMPOSER.

ALWAYS KEEN, ALWAYS INSPIRED,

BUT REALLY NO-ONE GIVES A F**K.

Reviews

[ANTO]

LOL - aww C.R. - thats life on the road sure, eh? as Christy "sit feckin down while Im singing or I'll knock you fecking down" Moore might say
You still have your wit - this is funny -
You should come up to Belfast mate - we positively HATE our buskers !!

[C.R.Turner]

It's tough out there. Musical instruments should be outlawed!