In the dark times, the world was harsh, strewn with grief & all knew naught but despair.
Then out the north a rider appeared. Large of arse, with a song in his heart and a bandana to tie back his hair.
On a mission he came, to heal the sick and the lame. A prophet, spreading the word – the gospel of steel and wool.
Throwing open the temples of the carbonites and freeing them from their lycra-clad shame.
Now a new cult spreads across the land, as Disciples answer his call and join his merry band.
Warrior Poets all, true of heart, strong of leg, firm of hand.
On the daily crusade they go forth, with the Spiritual Leader in their midst, ministering the pastoral care each requires.
A bawdy joke here, a sly remark there, words of encouragement for another, quick of wit and with wry observations on kit and frames and tires.
His knowledge of the arcane and mystical arts is deep and profound.
Part bard, part minstrel – with keyboard, guitar and voice he makes beautiful sound.
His name is Bullet, he is 50 today and to know him we are proud.
Dora
