skip the rope.
jump the tide.
no one ever has it right.
only left to be a man
until the world
all in all,
a captain’s hune
for a little passion plan.
and so we go back out.
but you play a game
that i found out.
and as the mothers are homecoming,
please go dancing.
skip the rubbing
and be a good boy.
please your tells.
cause on we go…
but play a handle with no hands shooting.
the valves are begging you to press and hum.
my only matter is a seeming circle.
my only dig into the world is god.
and earth is round.
beds are sweating from summer’s faucets
and you’re letting business handle human rights.
and as the president aids Satan,
he just erupts into a bitter kite
to let it go
sometimes i wonder if its diamond’s telling:
a game of instincts that you’ve lost, it seems.
and even if it turns out i’m pissing,
i’m off like lightning to the copper key:
now truth spills.
and now im hoping that your stupid nonsense
is copping back to sit like finer thugs;
to let your tongue release its wagging;
to chase your tail or splash with slugs.
cause if you hear,
my happy days give nights their resting;
my dreams describe to me a placid well
that i go driving into like serpents.
if you can’t see that’s torture
then you never will.
and even so,
give your handshakes.
collect your whatever.
’til it’s a fucking disgrace.
and then it’s the exact same world
on a different day.