| Oh the partisan said «there are photos in your head I want to know what they
|
| are»
|
| And he was wise in many matters of the bruised and the battered
|
| And the cold in your car
|
| He said that «I want berries the Apollo-weary citizen has some behind his bar.»
|
| Who blows the sky? |
| Who blows the sea? |
| Who puts the Myriad in the grass in front
|
| of me?
|
| In the lofts they would pull and they would tear upon their seleves and the
|
| tinkling is a symphony of «Father won’t you please?»
|
| And the rent becomes a myth because the photograph is diseased
|
| For the matriarch has slipped and hurt her blessed knee:
|
| «Oh when’s she going to slow down? |
| Wil Wendy ever slow down?»
|
| Oh the partisand said there are photos in your head I want to know what they
|
| are;
|
| And he was young but still terrific through the burning barn’s horrific
|
| It was done all the same
|
| And with his bat and his bullies he’s going to stalk
|
| The hills of mercy and lay waste to their name
|
| It’s the violator’s aim
|
| And I called the love from everyone to testify that I am as stupid as a lord on
|
| a skewered palace sword
|
| «So dumb (the person), I called your name in verse
|
| To the masked poled opponents of partisans and sentiments and cake-holed second
|
| verse and I am stupid and indifferent to the muscles of the minions who had
|
| stupidly opinioned that the mayor was the emblem of the passion-played name
|
| But the fall of the palace was from cold and not malice it was winter in the
|
| Tallahassee port with the broken soldiers out to lay their claim:
|
| Wild blood, oh do you still run around with wild blood? |