One day we all wake to find
fish bowl rocks in our right front pocket
and movie ticket stub from the local morgue kept safe there in the other
and when you stop to read, you have to leave a rock
convincing living human beings that you yourself are convinced of living human beings
or do your arms just jut from the wide side of an interior wall,
the type of hardly there people
who's hands never fail them
not even in dreams
Are you no longer the propmaster cleaning up fake blood between shots
coming home feeling dirty from a long night of nearly being yourself
singing
Swan song
Are you not disco
all there where you are, sun starved and american
in those –o' so separable palms
holding your
breath against a still fleshed chest full of Should Bees
You see, however so slightly permanent,
these have been things sung that will never be songs
never more wet concrete for song street
this is not more wet concrete
for sold song street
not nice warm concrete
not
swan song on tooth brink. Not more raw wheat
Are you not, are you are you not not not?
Are you not not disco disco?
Are you not not disco disco disco?
not nice warm concrete
not sung
not more raw wheat
not song
not poor song meat
(x2)
Song meat (x4)
A frozen lake is solved by all means
Frozen lake (x2)
Who drops mast?
Who is the drunk master?
Who drops mast?
(x2)
One day,
We are wait to buy
Disco rocks
And the white wins other
When we takes one swan
In the bar
Sleep her in the other
And when you stop to breath
It's swan meat
It's the little bee (x5)
Live a long
not nice warm concrete
not song street
not swan
not street
not concrete
not swan
not more raw wheat
(x4)