|
A febrile shocking violent smack |
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And the children are hoping for a heart-attack |
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Tonight the windows are watching |
|
The streets all conspire |
|
And the lamppost can't stop crying |
|
If I could fly high above the world |
|
Would I see a bunch of living dots spell the word stupidity |
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Or would I see hungry lover homicides |
|
Loving brother suicides and Ally Ally Oxenfrees |
|
Who pick a side and hide? |
|
The world is scratching at my door |
|
My morning paper's got the scores |
|
The human interest stories |
|
And the obituary, oh yeah |
|
Cockroach naps, rattling traps |
|
How many devils can you fit upon a match head? |
|
Caringosity killed the Kerouac cat |
|
Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction |
|
In my alley around the corner |
|
There's a wino with feathered shoulders |
|
And a spirit giving head for crack and he'll never want it back |
|
There's a little kid and his family eating crackers like thanksgiving |
|
And a pack of wild desperadoes scornful of living |
|
The world is scratching at my door |
|
My morning paper has the scores |
|
The human interest stories |
|
And the obituary, oh yeah |
|
Cradle for a cat, Wolfe looks back |
|
How many angels can you fit upon a match? |
|
I want to know why Hemingway cracked |
|
Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction |
|
Life is the crummiest book I ever read |
|
There isn't a hook, just a lot of cheap shots |
|
Pictures to shock and characters an amateur |
|
Would never dream up |
|
Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction |
