Keith Richards, if he were a children’s book

sppnGoodnight spoon and goodnight stash.
The sun is up. It’s time to crash.

Goodnight booze and pills and crystals,
Moroccan scarves and German pistols.

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The groupies snorted all the blow;
The roadies passed out hours ago;

 

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Mick’s stretched out in Room Ten-Oh-Nine
Where all those stray cats wait in line.

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So goodnight Memory Motel.
Goodnight bottle of Rebel Yell;

Brazilian pimp and Swedish whore;
The French cops pounding at the door.

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The dealers with the gypsy curse;
That jaded faded junkie nurse;

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The midnight ramblers and Angels on Harleys;
That tripped-out chick who swears she’s Charlie’s.

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Goodnight Brian, Bill and Ron.
Goodnight Elvis. Goodnight Jann.

It’s time to set the cuckoo clock.
Ah, fuck sleep. Let’s stay up and rock.

8-v2

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Rolling Stone’s Rob Sheffield imagines what a childrens book on Keith Richards would be like.

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