Byron....do you actually expect good diction from a monkey?

I mean after all....


The monkey sat on a pile of stones
And stared at the broken bone in his hand
And the stains of a Viennese quartet
Rang out across the land
The monkey looked up at the stars
And thought to himself
Memory is a stranger
History is for fools
And he cleaned his hands
In a pool of holy writing
Turned his back on the garden
And set out for the nearest town



Sorry... couldn't resist.

__________________
I have always been here.
I have always looked out from behind these eyes.