|
A gut pull drag on me |
|
Into the calm gaping we |
|
Mirrors multi reflecting this |
|
Between spunk stained sheet and odorous whim |
|
Calm eye-flick-shudder within |
|
Assist me to walk away in sin |
|
Where is the string that Theseus laid? |
|
Find me out this labyrinth place |
|
I do get bored, I get bored |
|
In the flat field |
|
I get bored, I do get bored |
|
In the flat field |
|
Yin and Yang lumber punch |
|
Go taste a tart, then eat my lunch |
|
And force my slender thin and lean |
|
In this solemn place of fill wetting dreams |
|
Of black matted lace of pregnant cows |
|
As life maps out onto my brow |
|
The card is lowered in index turn |
|
Into my filing cabinet hemispheres spurn |
|
I do get bored, I get bored |
|
In the flat field |
|
I get bored, I do get bored |
|
In the flat field |
|
Let me catch the slit of light |
|
For a maiden's sake and maiden flight |
|
In the flat field I do get bored |
|
Replace with Piccadilly whores |
|
In my yearn for some cerebral fix |
|
Transfer me to that solid plain |
|
Hammer me into blazon pain |
|
Molding shapes no shame to waste |
|
Molding shapes no shame to waste |
|
And drag me there with deafening haste |
