when I'm going down the street
I've got the ghouls howling
and it's a magic evil that goes beyond words.
brown paper bags leaking vodka into the drain
and the police are lining up to lock us down.
we're walking away and blowing smoke at the guns
because nothing matters when it's
it's not even cold, all those embers flying in the air
give it a humidity that writhes in sex.
(aborted fetuses on the asphalt).
I'm changing to be acceptable but even the jeans
are tight enough to choke and the dust
doesn't bother my eyes because they're closing from sleep.
the bus comes two hours late and I'm happy
because I'm pretty enough to have boys watching,
grinning even with their clown makeup on.
the smoke clouds over this wicked city and we're
all locked down in the feeling of fucking something
that doesn't exist.
(better get rid of it before someone notices
that you're carrying a grudge).