Conceptive city
|
Soon to contract
|
and birth a child of its own rats
|
And I was waiting
|
I've been waiting
|
Long enough to take this town
|
|
And what was
|
found on the wall
|
was written
|
by a third grader
|
and it read
|
"I was found
|
like molten rats
|
in your city unkept.
|
In your city I wept."
|
|
Now this takes us
|
to well-groomed children
|
cross legged
|
groping at Braille
|
trying to read their creator's name.
|
In fervor and panic
|
wanting to go home
|
In minivan and good smells
|
In tandem with mom
|
tranquilized in defense.
|
|
All your mothers and fathers,
|
Your sisters and brothers
|
head to hills overlooking buildings of bank's
|
and telephone's operations.
|
It was then they saw the born purpose.
|
To excavate holes and reproduce.
|
To eat the sweeping of
|
its forefather's thoughtfulness.
|
To eat the bygones unwanted.
|
To spread disease in sects of three.
|
1-2-3.
|
All in all there's nothing left.
|
All in all, there's nothing left.
|
Chicken feed left for your heirs.
|
Streets leaked with sewage for the mind.
|
And I was waiting, oh I've been waiting
|
long enough to take this town.
|
To take this town
|
All the way down
|
To take this town.
|
|
-----------------
|
Mescaline Eyes
|
| These Arms Are Snakes |
