Sonny had a good hook, a chorus of charisma so to say, no good with boxes though or caps for that matter but he knew how to draw water, deeply too. Make it swell in the soul of a being here was his niche, carved out in the moment he stayed swimming through the blues and the corals too. As long as it sat on his tongue like fresh paint he rarely dyed, just coated and if the meaning was heavy enough, soaked through clean but never clear. Mississippi river writer he was, boy could stroke the blues out of a tree, stoic as it is. bled blues mingled red indigo kid, he was indigenous to praying that he wasn't misunderstood
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