On Sat, 22 Sep 2007 21:29:39 -0400, Squibnick the Elder wrote: > He smiled and rubbed the stubble on his chin > He sure shall find the weariness and dreariness of life that's growing > thin > Yet he didn't have so very far to go > With a pencil in his hand he will travel on as planned > With a mere step in the mountain to a light > Craise Finton Kirk, see him go, on his way > Oh they don't know where he is > Very very nice, very very nice > Even in the morning when he slept > Something odd is missing > There's nothing very much to talk about > And nothing very much to see > Craise Finton Kirk, see him go, on his way > oh they don't know where he is > Very very nice, very very nice > Talks about the place he'd like to go > And you never see the worrying and hurrying and that makes a person slow > Yet you wouldn't think he'd be so hard to find > Yet he looks so very busy but there's nothing on his mind > And his wavy hair continues not to grow > Craise Finton Kirk, see him go, on his way > oh they don't know where he is > Very very nice, very very nice > Craise Finton Kirk, see him go, on his way > Oh they don't know where he is > Very very nice, very very nice Sqib My old friend, How the hell are you?
