Bleeding away all the servitude you're due,

like when a train is passing in Berlin and you stop,

but just to wonder whether it's all right to cry,

all right to die.

-

Just avert your eyes from my covert lies

and see the me that's underneath, beneath—

beneath my teeth. I'm only lying through them,

lying to them: the wine-sodden men.

This statue is proof of wisdom in youth,

so all the poets and dreamers, saints and redeemers,

(and sinners are fine all in due time),

put that pen to the page and make my:

One: Heart flutter,

Two: Body shudder, and

Three: Mouth moan.

I wanna hear you sing, pretty baby,

I wanna hear you sing my name to the wind,

make a promise you can't rescind.

Promise me, promise me, that you'll always

break the ice.

-

Stop leaning into the sun,

stop dining on misfortune,

to torture and tune.

Your demeanor is wrong,

and was all along, but you're learning to—

to hide behind your teeth.

But you're not hiding behind them,

only lying through them.

Ivory cavalry and minty-fresh guile,

while, keeping a straight face all the while.

Baby, turn the dial to 1-0-9 and

you'll take off into the sun.

-

This statue is proof of wisdom in youth,

so all the poets and dreamers, saints and redeemers,

(and sinners are fine all in due time),

put that pen to the page and make me

believe you through your teeth.