It’s One of Those Times
It’s sim ply
One of those times
when you’re going to pot
one of those crimes
when you really should rot
one of those times you do not
It’s sim ply
one of those mornings
they’ve all got you taped
one of those dawnings
you hoped you’d escaped
one of those mornings you’re raped
The cities are falling like rain from the skies
The toadthings are leaving the ground as you watch
You’re laughing and dancing with joy and surprise
It helps with that pain in your crotch
So it’s just
one of those rages
that rupture and burn
one of those ages
you get what you earn
one of those pages
you wish you could turn
’Cos its none of your bloody concern
No it’s none of your bloody concern
It knocks you sideways
None of your bloody concern
The Poison that Powered Their Scrutinies
The poison that powered their inner scrutinies
Seeped into beetling baldbright Boreas
So he saw himself tumultaneously
Making the cripple still
Upon the cabbalistic asphalt
Making couch upon a lake of flames
Making love to a dummy vulva
Making Age Old Ina suffer him
His face cracked its banks
China thoughts depiggied
Boreas saw more of his borearsed self
Than he could dare or wish to see
He rocked with unreason on
The staggered balcony of insight
Manifolding in discardment
As his capital lost all loot
The Miraculous In Search Of Me
It could all have turned out differently.
Indeed, to other peeled-off I’s
The difference is an eternal recurrence:
And the stone trees that erupt along