| A gut pull drag on me
|
| Into the chasm gaping we
|
| Mirrors multi-reflecting this
|
| Between spunk-stained sheet and odorous whim
|
| Camera eye-flick-shudder within
|
| Assist me to walk away in sin
|
| Where is the string that Theseus laid?
|
| Find me out this labyrinth place
|
| I do get bored, I get bored
|
| In the flat field
|
| I get bored, I do get bored
|
| In the flat field
|
| Yin and yang lumber punch
|
| Go taste a tart, then eat my lunch
|
| And force my slender, thin and lean
|
| In this solemn place of fill-wetting dreams
|
| Of black-matted lace of pregnant cows
|
| As life maps out onto my brow
|
| The card is lowered in index turn
|
| Into my filing cabinet hemispheres spurn
|
| I do get bored, I get bored
|
| In the flat field
|
| I get bored, I do get bored
|
| In the flat field
|
| Let me catch the slit of light
|
| For a maiden’s sake, on a maiden flight
|
| In the flat field I do get bored
|
| Replace with Piccadilly whores
|
| In my yearn for some cerebral fix
|
| Transfer me to that solid plain
|
| Hammer me into blazen pain
|
| Moulding shapes, no shame to waste
|
| Moulding shapes, no shame to waste
|
| And drag me there with deafening haste |