Seeking fortune not a friend shooting and theiving vow I'll search untill the end. Do I beleive truly in the saviour when running in such way even with my mouth I profess each day. Street poets have no dreams to tell drown their soul with whisky then write of hell. Well they not know of mine! So I shall cast no pearls before this herd of swine Let me reach lost souls fuck their silk made sheets, whether paddle oar rowing or commander of the fleet.
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Smith Shine Poetry 