Gigin alone at the bottom of the hill   Our protagonist named Bill   Sets his sights on an anchor steam point   All he needs is thirteen quarters   Congregated in his hat      A crow, a scavenger type   California redemption, provides him with his rent   Room and board inside of a fifth of comfort   As the wind penetrates his bones his mind keeps focused   Tidal waves of sound catapulted from his horn, wail like lovers      The coins don't drop consistent as does the mercury   His meter slows realizing a zenith   He's reached perfection   No one did see him die