Oh hair of dread, the time is here.
|
Thirty-three, the sheep draw near with eyes so keen
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they cannot hear all the lies that buy their ears.
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Oh, horsepants, tobacco chest.
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Oh, sex ghost. Oh, nape of neck.
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The tears are crashing on her breasts.
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The burning bed is out again.
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If it's sad, you know it' true.
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God is glad on bluer moons.
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When your room is all you do, it comes to you.
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Oh, my rank ink instrument,
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row my boat towards abstinence with thoughts as long as cigarettes.
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Snowed in lips and cross protect.
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Oh, that birdlike appetite.
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Lo, passive fasts make us contrite?
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On silken highways of the night,
|
the spiders crawl my candlelight,
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where the sun shines in space.
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God is dumb, god is great.
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But does he love us all the same?
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Are we OK?
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And I cried out your name because I loved the sound it made
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and because I couldn't wait to see your face.
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And nothing ever was the same.
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And the stars say, "Look into my eyes."
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But I can't change if it's only in my mind.
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And I love you but I don't have the right.
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And I wanted you so bad tonight.
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|
-----------------
|
Psalm
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| Jets To Brazil |
