Still fascinated by reflections and haunted by a clinical past
the reflections dissected a bilateral triangle
with right angles falling by the wayside
playing hangman 90 degree off suit
and spelling numbers to make the shoot
you toss in the pot with big slick sitting
folding and holding while you're there spitting
on the choices she made, places she stayed
i was just trying to help her out and pay
for a little longing she really deserved
you call her a pervert and fire your eyes
recoiling in agony, dripping in sadness
she comes back to me to fix the mess
are you really that fucked up?
do you whistle grenades past me?
how about past the bad guys?
you know...the one's we're supposed to be fighting.
you think this is a party? A joke? A political show?
well i've got a clue for you
the boys come back in pieces
the boys come back in bags
the boys come back needing releases
that just don't come easy
it's that stonking complex again, back waving that friendly wave
trying to get your attention and make you realize that waves
needs to be ridden and ridden hard and high
ridden serious so you aren't the one that dies
we're building the bombmaker's house
inviting you in, under cover of the night
will you listen? Will you move to anger? Will you try to understand?
They aren't you, but you are both the same, just different garb
the more you deny it, the stronger it gets
the spooks tell you so
but what of molecular duke?
where does he stand on all this?
left? right? close hover? kidney stutter?
maybe quintero needs to come out to play and help with duke
what duke needs to do is string up more lights and make sure they're blue
or maybe green. i've lost track. i'll end up smacked and whacked
