| Wonder flood the valley
|
| Tunnel feed the soil
|
| Free advice with constant wit
|
| Never to recoil
|
| Bums rush o’er the high grass field
|
| With shoes of plastic lace
|
| That untie at the first step
|
| Not the last that wins the race
|
| Herein lies my sure demise
|
| Or 'haps my one bright seed
|
| This or then the other tact
|
| Falls right and starts to bleed
|
| Can you hear a toneless rhyme
|
| Between my bones and sunken eyes?
|
| No… I think not-
|
| It’s as if my thought has worn
|
| The clown’s disguise
|
| Oh, my little life worn out
|
| On this goddamn road
|
| I live to breath more than believe
|
| A reason for this load
|
| Is it my own version
|
| Of a terrifying leap across
|
| An unforgiving landscape
|
| When all I want is sleep?
|
| Unfolding here before me
|
| Is an ugly naked truth
|
| I know no more than a drunkard
|
| In a circus dunk-tank booth
|
| The balls come flying one-two-three
|
| In and down I go
|
| The people retch in laughter
|
| While I scream out for more
|
| Now i’m dry electric shock
|
| I watch the sky like a broken clock
|
| I tie my plastic lace and then I
|
| Go back to my walk
|
| Stuttering for coffee
|
| Or a comforting brush
|
| Across the backs of both my knees
|
| Mother sings to hush
|
| Make a castle to the sky
|
| In honnor of a man like sand
|
| Who’ll wass away in time and he will
|
| Ne’er be here again
|
| Oh, my little life worn out
|
| On this goddamn road
|
| I live to breath more than believe
|
| A reason for this load |