Marrow arrows shine like Silver Swords

In the wilderness atop the Clock Tower made of steel

Where midnight tolls and morning rings

We dine from bowls that are skulls of kings

Around the corner, down the shaft

The aftermath slides down the hatchery

Where eggs run free to roam the streets

Like chickens with their heads sewn up

The last time I ever flew a kite

Was the first time my pager had blown up

10,000 calls from a mystic stranger

Who copied my number off of a payphone

Somebody scratched it in with a rubber pencil

Back when my face was made from a stencil

And my hair was made of tinsel

Long, fleshy tendrils falling off a shattered tide

Deep inside where the river cried

On this two-legged unicycle of death I ride.


Downtown with a grim-faced clown through a cornfield

A maze of maize windswept with haze

Where a school of seagulls stop to feast on crows

And the Sunday breeze blows against my tows

While I flip the bird through channels of TV shows

My eyes see sepia toned dreams

In subtitled visions of silent movie screams

Where I made a house out of mattress springs

And termite-infested matchstick beams

And sat in the attic to wait for a play date

Smoking the newspaper through a Velcro pipe

Inhaling my fill of the daily blues

In black-and-white Technicolor of propagated hype.



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