Original Poetry about anything and everything.
The snare drum and bass drum
Married by song
Joined in their work
But separated by a few beats.
They need that time apart
To carry the music
Oh! To play in the same moment
Would lose something of themselves.
To be united and together
Though separate and unique
That’s true marriage
For the conductor knows best.
– Vagabond Prophet
I miss my drums
They were named Gary,
Shells made of birch
In hues of cherry.
Then there was Gorbachev
The black one,
All I’m thinking now
Is how I’d like to smack one.
– Vagabond Prophet
I miss my drums
They were named Gary,
Shells made of birch
In hues of cherry.
Then there was Gorbachev
The black one,
All I’m thinking now
Is how I’d like to smack one.
– Vagabond Prophet
I miss my drums
They were named Gary,
Shells made of birch
In hues of cherry.
Then there was Gorbachev
The black one,
All I’m thinking now
Is how I’d like to smack one.
– Vagabond Prophet
Vagabond Prophet 