My shoehorn mocks me with grace, as
the radio sits in a cornor and sulks.
Nastily.
NASTILY.
Nastily
Nastily.
My ear explodes with haste,
and a cellular telephone, somewhere
in bulgeria
Leads me to my dreams in a zepplin.
Nastily.
Nastily
Like my master, it chars
jesus like fire.
And in the end, we are
all crabs.