The Rag In the Hare

He's always lived in a dark crag called himself. wooing hearts then rubbing them for a shag he wears a sable robe, but he's a dirty little rag. Wherever he goes, there'll be a trail of misery. A clown juggling asp on a razor bladed dream. He collects trophies of a twisted, shameful legacy. He's got a bone yard full of acquaintances. He's a user of users- a real butthole supreme. Don't be fooled by the salt and pepper stare. He's a suburban lynx on an endless prowl. In a meadow of blonde, blue-eyed hare.