Emergency Exit Only

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Paul K Davis in his lair

With malt induced beatific stare.

Beguiled by those who stagger past,

Seen through the bottom of his glass.

No grandkids crowding on his knee,

Not for him a family.

Grasshoppers fiddle through the summer,

Responsibility is a bummer.

His skills were honed by these low habits,

And you too can learn to pencil rabbits.

So:

This is the story that I heard told,

Mr. Paul would not grow old.

It does not require a sleuth,

To know someone has wasted youth.

Ya wanna make art that's semi-par?

Just move into your local bar!


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