Gi-

gin

a-

lo-

ne

a-

t

the

bot-

to-

m

o-

f

the

hi-

ll

Our

pro-

ta-

go-

ni-

st

na-

med

Bi-

ll

Sets

his

sights

on

an

an-

chor

steam

pint

All

he,

nee-

ds

is

thir-

teen

quar-

ters

Con-

gre-

ga-

te-

d

in

hi-

s

ha-

t

A

crow,

a

sca-

ve-

n-

ge-

r

ty-

pe

Ca-

li-

for-

nia

re-

demp-

tion,

Pro-

vides

him

with

his

rent

Room

and

board

in-

side

of,

a

fifth,

of

com-

fort

As

the

wi-

nd

pe-

ne-

tra-

tes

hi-

s

bo-

nes

His

mind

kee-

p

fo-

cused

Ti-

dal

waves

of

sound

ca-

ta-

pul-

ted

From

his

horn,

wail

like

lo-

vers

The

coins

don't

drop

con-

sis-

tent

as

does

the

mer-

cu-

ry

His

me-

ter

slows

rea-

li-

zing

a

ze-

nith

He's

reached

per-

fec-

tion

No

one

did

see

him

die