O soft South Terrace of stifling midday,
Shutting, like sunnies of magic design,
Our glare-gumm’d peepers on the vibrant fray,
Semi-shaded, left in listing recline:
Golden brown sun! if so it please thee, close
During Someone Like You my squinty eyes,
Or ‘wait the “Fuck off,” when a cunt not throws
Into my case his meagre charities.
Then save me, or the pissed day will whine
Upon my guitar, breeding the aggros,—
Save me from Havana, and shorts of board
The cry in the darkness: ‘You bloody mole’;
Turn the key deftly in my rusty chords,
A physio booking will be my goal. 
Pic courtesy The Cott Kid; apologies for any inconvenience to John Keats.
The Worst of Perth 
A musical beggar in shoes? Youse sure this is Freo?
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Maybe he was fresh off the boat?
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He won’t have shoes for long , the Frei degenerates will see to that.
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Nice Maton
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Hahaha, excellent work DC – best Keats adaption EVA!! Mind you, the original’s almost as funny – “oiled wards” (/”rusty chords”) has always made me chuckle.
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Thanks maaaaate!
Well he did dash it out in about three hours.
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That’s “Moll’, ya cunt.
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give that man a dorrah
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PIcasso?
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