I’ve been casting aspersions
Like a riotous protestor that
I’m the least conspicuous.
Speak to us…
And this time, leave out the signs or signals.
Hand-gestures are the cousins of gang-signs
And all of those mimes
Feeling for spaces with animated faces
Right now, I need none of that
“No” means “yes”
“Definitely” means “maybe”
Uhuh…
“6 o’clock” means 7″
“Hell means Heaven”
I need none of that right now
I have a drum…
I have an eardrum
And my ossicles function optimally.
Speak to me about
How do you manage to see
Through me like cellophane.
Mr Lonesome is naked
In a foreign country,
A stranger in Moscow,
But he’s accompanied by his assistant, transparency.
So public indecency
Is the least of his worries.
Not sold to “Godlessness”,
But He participates
With a faith that slowly dissipates
In loneliness.
‘Home is where the heart is’
Well, the beauty without mercy eviscerated his.
It’s placed in an ice-box
Down a dungeon
Dangerous with Dragons and all.
He’s ghosting around inanimately,
Eric Wright-fully so…
It’s Easy E to have no expectations
When the other gender
Reckons you don’t have a drum…
You don’t have an eardrum,
Your ossicles don’t function optimally,
So they refuse to speak to you
About how they manage to see
Through you like cellophane.
… But they’ll sell you pain…
The fairer sexes,
With all the daggers and axes
Are up to no good.
Hearts made of ice-cubes
They perambulate looking for
Boys in the hood.
The violence has changed me…
I’m a venustraphobe
In a population of one,
I already see
It’s not gonna work
Even though it’s not begun.
So let me re-trace this…
Not all men are trash.
Some are trash-cans
Filled with phlegm and la femme faeces,
We deal each other blows
As though we’re not of the same species.
What can we accomplish
If you let me
Lend you my drum?
I’ll lend you my eardrum.
My ossicles function optimally.
Now, speak to me about
How do you manage to see
Through me like cellophane.
