|
antichrist and barcodes |
|
in the air that we breathe |
|
with a little black box i hide in the sky |
|
in the water that trickles in our mouths |
|
in the codes that flicker are lives |
|
on and off |
|
does the carton nights |
|
starts to swallow and shiver |
|
and to freeze |
|
the fish belly up |
|
the unborn served up |
|
obeying the planets |
|
no insense is strong enough |
|
to make this life complete |
|
alpha and omega |
|
the great in the small |
|
the butterflies flutter by |
|
the foxes stop running |
|
the moon |
|
as sharp as a sickle |
|
and as bright as a pin |
|
breathed its heavy sick breath |
|
as we fitfully slept |
|
and heavily dreamed |
|
to awake |
|
back into endings |
|
and quietly wait |
|
for the trains to stop chugging |
|
and the clocks to implode |
|
his name is under our skin |
|
and so by the hair |
|
of my chinny chin chin |
|
by hook or by crook |
|
our necks are in the news |
