Marlow’s Listener

Now, is the summer of our discontent made nuclear winter
by this dark start of stealth
We few, we miserable few, we miserable band of misfits
For he who sheds his skins
with me today
shall be blistered
And men abed in England
shall count themselves to sleep
when any who on Saint Crispin day stays out too late to drink
Don’t
Let it be [...]