your coffee is getting old…
why don’t you drink it up while you carefully weigh your words and strip them of feeling before you press them into your album with them opposable thumbs of yours? I’m crashing outta here the night is getting young and I’ve got fires to start.
your words are tired and cold…
you suck the life outta them before committing them to dread asylums where they are measured for straight jackets and confined to padded cells never to be heard from again me – I’m going down to Union Square to scream a lung out
this place is a cage…
café society is an aviary where the featherless and loveless perch on the brink of boredom surveying an endless procession of days without names they say repetition is reassuring but I don’t like to take the same trip twice – that’s why I never read your stuff.
I’m flying this coop…
fare-thee-well my fair weather pals you no longer rock my boat and though it’s been swell I really think it’s time to split before we come to blows remember that hippy who told us he’d rather die than fight? well he did somebody beat him to death last night I think I made my point
I’m starting fires…
in this life I’ve been spiked stabbed shot and stamped on so often it don’t hurt
no more I swallowed more poison and stopped more bullets than Rasputin I lived to tell the tale and do I have tales to tell but I didn’t learn them in here I’m gonna torch this jail before I leave but you can stay feel free
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