ARISAIG

The lake, the shore, the rain, the snow, the endless walks, the wind and the cold sun. He did, not know, the way to go, the boy was lost, was having no more fun, he’s giving up, cannot go on The pain, the lows, the strain, the falls, the dark, the frozen winding winter road, He made a point, of feeling poor, and asked to leave, then headed for the swamp, he had to go, bag a Monroe. Hey! Oh no you don’t! What a funny thing to aim for Oh no you don’t!