Here's the one from Tom Waits:
The Pogues
Their music is like
-the brandy of the damned-
Pogue Mahone
they are the last
pure hearts
from Dickens, Joyce, Dylan Thomas
to Christy Moore
like Red Diamonds
-Pirates- full of malarkey
-they're little giants-
they're Bill Sykes
They are all orphans
and they are leaving
on the 2:10 train
with no -ticket-
Rapscallion, angry, weeping
-passed out songs, songs-
that seem to be born
effortlessly, or
not born but found
on top of an old wood stove
like a Bowler hat
and the Pogues know
-where the little people go-
and they follow them
they're as old as a treasure island
songs that we all should carry
I learnt'em and sung'em
and changed'em
and passed them on
-down the wild blue road-
as Shane MacGowan and the Pogues
warm their hands
on fire
made from chopsticks
and a horse pulls a milk wagon
up the steep, wet cobblestone
-street and stumbles-
to his knees, bloodying them
as a man
no bigger than my tumb
dances in the broken glass
and jomps rope with a shoe lace
the song he sings
-/- is one by the Pogues -/-
Lovely..
Im sure I just broke some copyright law..
