Bump bump bump, the music just owns you
the wretched slapping of the E string ooh
absentminded banging, oh, you know how to
I am nearing the end of my mind
March April May June & July
the poor soles of those women!
ka ka ka, pity the hobbling walks of some
multi-layered eyes and the two big ones
(are not as they seem) mildly two-stepping
while Niru fancies himself a cat daddy
on a night out with my wallet. Time to get a gun
like a real American baddy.
Now I don’t mind Alan schlepping
but my civilian hands are soft from writing
Neue tanz, oh, please hold my interest
fist clenched music, at eight bucks I am often forgetting
The long Wissahickon downhill is the best
but I’m finding myself there less and less.
