The Seed and The Company

Madman W. take the wig from off your face and enjoy with me a pint of home-brew. My roof is leaking badly and my toes are curled with cold. It would be a high and mighty christian thing to let me buy a round tonight. Those children of the pastor seem like demons come to steal the eternal soul. The cobbles click with the tune of an unknown cane. That fog is thick here tonight my boy, the sea crashes along the outcrops and rocks come unstuck. Lay not idle in the dens dark and lit only with sashes crimson over bare lamps. Come share the shelter and free the mind with drink. This night is long and no certainty of light to come.