| Things are in black and white
|
| You are the sole member of tonight’s studio audience
|
| Splayn before you is the made for TV 2D back drop of some classic cooking show
|
| set
|
| The dead man from one dollar, only 30 years younger, is stood contra posto
|
| before you
|
| Front and center on stilts, pressing the drawn fangs of a tore in two fork
|
| tenderly against the quivering lip of a plastic champagne flute
|
| Several beads of clean water quickly slip from the pulled teeth tips
|
| Fingers in your mouth out of fear
|
| And tangle softly to a body in its empty crystal pit
|
| Your shadow’s somehow shot itself up on the wall behind him
|
| Throwing a peace sign up like devil’s horns above his ever so signature
|
| president head silhouette
|
| He catches your eye and calls you up to the stage
|
| While he opens a wee door wide in his overall armor
|
| He then shows you a change slot bore where his appendix would be
|
| And says softly, «see how» he too had been bit by the audience once
|
| He takes to the floor from his stilts
|
| As you make for beside him on stage, you bump exposed flesh by mistake
|
| The heat from his hurt has its way with the hairs on your neck
|
| Till your glasses go black and you lean back on a yell
|
| Just then he wiggles a pec with the quickness, and wishes your mouth flooded
|
| shut
|
| Steel wool, safety glass, and loosed teeth (x4)
|
| Your shadow, now cringed in tight behind you, is puddled up soaking the skin on
|
| your heels
|
| Your busy scraping your tongue down like a wildman with the jagged edge of your
|
| house key
|
| And angry dream George is once more top his stilts, still swallowing your yell
|
| Calling your attention yet again to the slot tore in his side
|
| As he shouts something down about you sucking out venom
|
| You motion to cover your eyes
|
| While your shadow breaks free and lets dive
|
| Through your back, sucking in its blacks
|
| As you gag from the pit of your person and pitch
|
| You wake up dark eared and edgy on a bench in a park
|
| Sizing up the there amounts of edible meat on the closest rock dove
|
| And then nearby elderly woman in the raw
|
| Extracting American water all by bald eye and one public school education
|
| Until you feel like sinking or singing
|
| Like sinking or singing (x3) |