'Too Many Poets'

Key to authors' pseudonyms

Adrift at sea in an ocean liner
It would seem nothing could be finer
My head is stuffed, I'm such a whiner
Took a punch, gettin' a shiner
Gettin' hungry for my neighborhood diner
Oh that's right, they don't serve minors

The sojourn directs me towards the main line
But I sure feel like shit, hope I don't flatline
'Cause I hurt my back, I twisted my spine
Could use a massage, your place or mine?
Drowning my sorrows in a fine red wine
Kick back and listen to Revolution #9

The students stopped learning
The turntable stopped turning
My ulcer is churning
Stomach acids are burning

Procol Harum concerts in 2001: index page

Manchester: Palers' Convention

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