Oh the city calls its wild wastes
its fortressed breeze to help
In the park was Caravaggio's Christ
who f**ed the police and put an end to the price of automobile radio heists
And did you want to help did you think you'd help?
But your help was a hurt
A motivational welt
Wounds and their salts
"And the ill milk in your bones
and you whisper to your knees
and your two broken collarbones:
You want to take a photograph then take a photograph of me!"