Josiah Bayne


Don'T Tell Nobody

It was dark that night, as all before,
The colour of gravestones, the ghetto and poor,
When Uncle Johnny got drunk and proceeded to explore
The innocent depths of little Sasha until her soul was sore.
 
He whispered words that rained like blows
Drawing blood from tears and renting clothes
Pelting screams so real it rivals Bose
When the neighbours hear, their windows close,

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