I come by crawling on your lake in frozen candlelight
Three palm trees bending low to catch my kite
I see your hands flash pink and blue like a thrift store neon sign
You carve in your desires with your knife
Carrying my only gold mine
And a thought control machine
Your casualty is in the corner
As I peel your tangerine
I bu*ton up my peaco*k fan and climb in the back seat
Of your diamond studded mortuary jeep
The wheelchair looks back at your legs and taps its leather teeth
As you place your yellow flower between your knees
Building bridges made of cardboard
Like a surgeon at your feet
Lost in red carpet congestion
As I peel your tangerine