| Lyrics: | a febrile shocking violent smack
the children are hoping for a heart attack,
tonight
the windows are watching,
the streets all conspire,
and the lamppost can't stop
crying,
if I could fly high above the world,
would I see a bunch of living dots spell
the world stupidity?,
or would I see hungry lover homicides,
loving brother suicides,
and olly olly oxenfrees,
who pickaside and hide
the world is scratching
at my door,
my morning papers got the scores,
the human interest stories, and the
obituary
cockroach naps and rattling traps,
how many devils can you fit upon a
match head?,
caringosity killed the Kerouac cat,
sometimes truth is stranger than
fiction
in my alley around the corner,
there's a wino with feathered
shoulders,
and a spirit giving head for crack and he'll never want it back,
there's a
little kid and his family eating crackers like thanksgiving
and a pack of wild desperados
scornful of living
the worlds is scratching at my door....
cradle for
a cat, Wolfe looks back,
how many angels can you fit upon a match?
I want to know why
Hemingway cracked,
sometimes truth is stranger than fiction
life is the
crummiest book I ever read,
there isn't a hook, just a lot of cheap shots,
pictures to
shock and characters an amateur would never dream up |
