Prologue

This is a drug induced poem by Bill who was an Hells Angel and a very close friend of mine he called me is little Bro' Bill died in 1992 when he rode his motorcycle off a cliff, it always seemed to me that this poem was (at the time) the final chapter of his life which he wrote 2 years before his death.

(Notoriety updated by request)

Blood pumping eye's burning, watch 'cos your mind is turning, digging deep into the bag, mainline the red white and blue, No! it's not the union jack, from whence before you had a clue, sweating cold, muscles aching, careful of the amount your taking, nevermind I'm not shy, I could tell you the reason why, digging deep, too deep for greed, can't seem to find my lines of speed.

pushing deep to far to see, the five mil rush, hunting for me, your eyes become voids of black, I hope I've got my trolly jack! somewhere your mind is screaming, bring back the hammer this boy is leaving, buzz yourself numb, speak untillyourdumb, in the morning watch the raysofthe morning sun.

Radioactivity falls from the skies, bearded men with warts in their eyes, cannonball run, tampon express!, no time to clean up that bloodymess, your spirit on its cosmic bike, leads you towards another spike, see the face of the moon, looking up from a spoon, no matter if you dig to deep, I know the mysteries that you seek, emptied my bag and I feel great!, I'm riding to fast to ejeculate, I could only speculate, has my sanity arrived to late?

Losing power, don't forget to bailout, the magical mystery tour is over, as to that there is no doubt, you fall like a brick from the sky, no longer all those miles high, well for six days now you've doneyourbest, done your drugs now take a rest, Oh! I see an angel, timely steed, tank full of petrol, bags fullofspeed, I've gone loco, now into acidnot the sulphuric kind, but those little micros which introducesyou toyourpsychedelicmind.

blow your skullular fuse, don't unplug now, because you'lllose, if you have the choice to choose, don't refuse, the more said the less fat to chew, but to those not stoned thiswillconfuse,

Laying beneath the balack oilydeep, they call the brimy foam, it dreams but never sleeps, heaves but never roams, that cold restless ocean, where those lost are never found, hearts like ships are broken, the screaming dead make no sound, the sea is never lifeless, yet it takes more than gives, its secrets though will not confess, and its memories not relive, my bike rolled off the cliff at speed, into the blackness below, my bones will rest amongst the shadows, of the mysteries and fall to earth assnow.

Epilogue

This poem was written by a close friend of mine who is no longer with us, Ive not altered or added or corrected his grammer published "as-is" the way he penned it so pleaseexcuseany errors. Bill Logan Ireland 1992