789

Far out for our
far out
my rubber sister
my dollhouse brother
I made your beds up
you don’t come round
do ya? Do you?

they’re a Persian chorus
they howl at the damp pavement
yearn for the moon
when it gets low enough
for us to give it a kiss

my sweet little black cross
they carry you on their heads
my children and siblings
all howling and screaming
and and and mewing

I’m a marketplace boy
I don’t care about your grass
I don’t want family blood
I don’t touch the moon
I don’t kiss bones

here - look at what I have