30 May 2012
His head grew full of white ghost hair, His body was clothed in tattered despair. He bumped his bell and gave a yell, "Now give me ye gold, the price I'll tell!"
From the rush of day to the flip of night, He would pick himself off from his natured plight For all he needs is a littered win From the disposing hands of another's scene.
Rag-and-Bone Man • Opuss № I