Sitting Around... On Top Of Chairs... On My Feet Standing By Buzzing Walk/Do Not Walk Signs With The Stretched Shadowy Confines Of Retards By The Grains Of Breezy Beautyfull Poster Childen Floating In The Monoxide Of Passing Traffic, Right InTo My Teary Eyes.
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If Boredom Be A Kingdom, I Would Be Its Exiled Joker To Plead In Madness To The River Gods For A Priestess To Fuck For Alligator Boots And Fast Cars... MayBe Smooth Sedans At My Control... To Crash InTo The Greens And The Reds... ByPass The Cautionary Tales From The Yellows... Skip The Blues... Dance By The Worldly Wreckage For RainDrops To Fall UpOn My Head.
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Don't Mean My Eyes Will Soon Be Turning Red... Dieing's Not For Me... Crying's For The Birds By The Turbulent Waters Rushing InTo The Gutters By My Feet... Rubber Soled And Double-Knotted...
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The City Acts GutLess For Sympathy... Well, It ACTS Sympathetic For A Man To Follow In The Flow Of Schemeatic Foot-Trails... Entrails InTo The Hidden UnderGround, To The Pipes In Motion... The Nights Of Arranged Turnings Of The FingerLess Valved Jazzless Commune. Those EyeLess Sucking Infancys Crawling For Bloody Dripping Gashes Of The Holy Rolling Sun Across The Razor's Glinting Straits... Corroded And Covered In A Polyester Faith By The Heated Waste Of Infantry Rigor...
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At Some Part Of The Way, BeTwixt The Roaring Traffic And The Clicking Of Pivoting ClockWork-Heels... My Own Finger Will Twitch.
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With No Need For Politics... Swelling The Clouds... Pierceing... Ripping Through... That Trigger... That Synaptic Shudder To Flinch And Retrieve.
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