Jak Black Biography

I'm sitting alone on my throne of cold stone,
High up on the mountain top.
I'm sitting alone with memories to hone,
Where the sandstone dares to outcrop.
...

Enveloped in his cotton wraps
He rests his weary pate.
The day is used, the night is young,
Time, now, to meditate.
...

A lady I thought was a friend,
Rubbished the words that I penned.
She thought such a slur
Would be of profit to her.
...

Where do you go to Gypsy Rose,
When you retire to your bed?
Where do you go to Gypsy Rose,
What dreams play inside your head?
...

I've now grown used to traffic rushing past my door,
Don't notice now exhaust fumes, and combustion engines roar.
I'm getting used to adverts that bombard my picture box,
And junk mail pouring on the mat now seems so orthodox.
...