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Pass The Pipe Sam

Pass The Pipe Sam
by Charles E S Fairey 

Pass the Pipe Sam
For you're my kind of Poet-man,
Washed a'shore upon the Rime
Without a dollar, nickle or dime,
You picked me up and took me in
Even though my muse was really Sin,
And by the sacred river of olde we smoked,
Our fearful critics, we laughed, would choke,
Upon our narcotic infused dreamy words
And how they too to Sin would flock like birds,
Oh Kubla Khan measureless to society's man
But pleasure to me, you the reader, and Master Sam.

Oh what wonders our minds speak upon the milk of paradise
Come sinners and drown within the words of fateful's dice,
And to Xanadu set adrift your journey full and true
To thresher's flail and demon-lovers fantastic nail,
For like the Widow's Son across the abyss we set sail
And the Fallen Whore is our muse's drug addled tale,
Pass the Pipe Sam
For we love you Poet-man!

Shangri-La (Xanadu?) (Art by another)