Things to Do in Denbigh When You're Dead

Forlorn in the getaway stuck in the mud
In his ears are his fingers
Slaved, set sail and found nothing to love where there was nothing to share
Debris, denizens, luxury and guts
Amour sheathed in regalia
Tacit, tethered to the scow as it sunk over and over again
Euthymia — The new face of the miserable
Euthymia — The brave face of the miserable
Misborn again ingrate who’s tainted work is never done
It grazes with the beautiful in hope it becomes one
Loaded missives of roaming triffids and rescue missions of faltering fate
Things to do in Denbigh when you’re dead
So, that’s what a real man looks like
This is what a real man looks like
Things to do in Denbigh when you’re dead