Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Slaughter The Birds And Replace Them With Clones Of Tom Waits

Planted seeds deep within my shoulders

Soon to sprout PCP by the dozen

I am your slapstick king

Awed by blue eyes through dynamite smoke

Stretching my arms across the interstate

All too happy melting in animated limbs

Sketch the kingdom for us, baby!

Paint gold over the dirt beneath our feet

For we're royalty and the world is but a jester

No comments:

Post a Comment