the-shiznite

Abigail The Misplaced Well, I met her at the mouth of the Licking River With my last two-dollar bill in a poke strung 'round my neck Abigail the Misplaced they hollered safely from their brier-patch But I was already lost in the world her face reflects Now surrounded by ophidian vines and hungry thorns Trying awful hard to eat all its buds before they were done with her Bitter rose hip tea the only thing close at hand to wash 'em down   No more rainwater here for easing an olden purr I awoke with a sailfish dorsal fin pinned on my achy back Still a little heavy as I swam those muddy shallows The riverbank finally 'neath my feet as