When the outlaws are mirroring antics
Of classical freaks and hopeless romantics.
Will you be caught in the stone age vice.
Will you be the one playing Taps
When the worlds unite, drawing one colored maps
As the crosses ignite, dissolving your one paradise.
You blow your cover with a single dash
One spasm of light, then like a burned out flashcube
You sit in your clam,
And blame the hand that smashes your shell against the rocks.
You shove your freedom in the face of God,
And while you're dragged into bed, you smile and nod
While in the back of your head,
They're propping your body up in a cardboard box.
When they dwell on the first book of Dante's,
The rangers, the rogers, the walters and montys,
Are they exposed with a pinwheel Pontiac rammed between their thighs
The paddleboat is pushing me ashore,
The mistletoe broke, and the key's on the floor
And I'm still trying to read the musical score
That keeps scrolling in your eyes.
No recording available
Copyright 1992 Zach London