100. The Devil went down to Leith Walk (31 July 2015.)

The first half dozen lines of this popped up the other day when working on something else. The rest has just kind of tumbled out during breaks in working on this other piece. Obviously, it’s not profound, but it’s given me a wee chuckle writing it.

The Devil went down to Leith Walk
He wasn’t feeling too well,
His spirits were down
He was needing a break,
His tan was cheap,
It was obviously fake,

His nails were chipped,
His manicurist found God,
But not her way home,
And what was worse was that,
The cheese grater emery board,
Didn’t work for him one bit,

They needed proper clipped,
And to make it worse,
His cigar made him choke,
Then up rose the smoke,
Dancing into both his eyes,
And after swearing, almost tripping,

Then he dropped his Buckie,
Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck!
Oh Fuckie, Not that!
Then his Kebab Pizza went,
So he lost his temper,
Over the wobbly pavement,

And cursed his luck
As he darkly muttered,
Taking revenge for the cracked paving,
The chilli sauce neck tie,
The Kebab meat spats,
And everything that,

Led to his dark and terrible raving,
He cursed the town most cruelly,
To never hear its native tongue,
During the month of his stumble,
As foreigners utter that and this,
Locals unheard try to mumble….

It should be us that’s talking pish.

Outtakes.

About Jim Laing

The Buddha said there were four kinds of people. Those who run from dark to dark, those who run from light to dark, those who run from dark to light and those who run from light to light. From a life going from dark to dark to having a few years running from dark to light, with scuffed hands and knees from sometimes falling, I may be getting the hang of it now. How it began is not now how it is, I need a quiet space, After the noise of the day, So I take sanctuary in the creativity, And my soul feeds, On sometimes dark, Sometimes light fantasy, And I dare like many to work, But stay up off my knees, To dream, perchance to suffer, But always still to dream. Here are things mostly lyrical and poetic, with nonsense sometimes, reviews and personal musings. The coffees hot and always black. The words not necessarily so.

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