When your heads in a field of Emotion
When your heads in a field of emotion
And your eyes are in a dance floor of chance
And sneak in a collaboration with tongue lotion
Whizzing round in the idleness Of stench of march
You clip in the depth and pull up your eye brows
Wiggle in the clefts of your puffed out cheeks
You snigger in the bigger and snort in the smaller
And look at the bottoms of snarling feet
You gob on the historic patterns like wet fixtures
Enslaved with french cigarette ashtrays and taught fumes
You slip between slabs and Ghetto grabs, oscillating a bassoon
Go leave, take your naked body, with your crematorium smile
You can smell onions, but you can’t make them cry, like you
Get out of that bath, your toenails rotting, have you no values?
You scuttle around waving a cucumber, at gibberish imposters
Why is your head at that angle? Somersaulting over a rainbow
