Lyrics Breakfast - Jam Baxter

Breakfast

Where are we?
My master the Magician in Black will see you now
In a café built high atop the edge of all morning
Cream uncoiling in the coffee she’s pouring
Aromatic mind ground down to the granules
Pebble dashed face like a crude child’s drawing
The same preamble
The old exit sign that glows green almost seems supernatural
The phone rings she presses cancel
And sinks back tied to an anchor entangled
Unless her dream steam rolls from stage fright
Then he ain’t gonna' fill the chair opposite and seem real
Fate he sealed by the same logic
That says «burn this whole place down for a free meal»
Unless time pays for seven year ransom
Disease ain’t gonna spare one dead relative
In that case the rums still on offer next door
A discounted flush for a handful of sedatives
With a facial expression that could paint a whole dead flooded city on the back
of any retina
In two seconds
Lips like a novel that’s barely worth reading
Eyes like abused tenants
Oil covered seagulls rife in the squelch of quick muttered pleasantry
The view outside was that long smashed ant farm
Buried in a year seven science class memory
I smiled
She looked up once
And mouthed the words «FUCK YOU» with all sincerity
My master the Magician in Black will see you now
I guess he didn’t see the menagerie of animals
Flapping in the strobe lit cover to the left
Or the tentacles creeping from the apron of the waitress
Dipped in the grease tank
Strangling the chef
The tiny faced business man
With a mug that demands every lost shred of laughter in the air
With the mass like spit balls pasting his pale skin
Leaving a white mulch glued to a chair
The child spewing acid in the sky like a lime green Las Vegas fountain
The moneys on red
The futures on black
Wheel spinning in reverse
The house wins your scalp
Flies nest in the neck
That frozen old man with the thick spittle waterfall drowning his eggs in saliva
Salmon re-spawn in his mouth bare swipe at the hatch stains
He wipes at his jaw like its minor
The wall behind crumbles
A man within a Hi-Vis impales every hard hatted goon on his tusk
Leaving the city half built gaping up
As vines crush cranes in the frost smothered dusk
That creamy eyed sloth, with loose skin befitting of an oversized gimp mask
Rabbit holes hidden in the fold of his brow
Lead to a cave where his devils all swing dance
I saw it all over breakfast
Opposite that pug-faced empress
Sour little foul-mouthed temptress
I paid up and walked out restless