Wasting your days. Chasing some girls, alright. Chasing cocaine through the back rooms. Of the world all night. . Wasting your days. Chasing some girls, alright.
You terrify the land, you are pestle and mortar. Your first love's new order, mother nature's son. King of the Everglades, population 1. I write poetry for myself, I write poetry for myself.
Cruising the magnetic strip, I seized the ship. I wanted it to be me that was with you. Site unseen shot through with meaning. I ran to the door, looked around.
You went looking for shelter in all the wrong spaces. You grew gluttonous and famous with faces. Nameless and blank, superstitiously you name them. . St. Christopher and Johanna.
I took a plane, I took a train. (Ah, who cares, you always end up in the city). I said to Carl, look up for one. (See just how the sun sets in the sky).