T.V's

Its a wild world honey,

outside those barbed barricades,

that primal howl whispering:

aow...

aow...

aow...



The T.V's (thanksgiving Vultures)

circling above that wasteland

picking ideas out of dry bones



Tired of all this chirp chirpering

you wade into the desert in looking for a drink,

only to find the that stage-coach musician down the well

praising this "new scene"



obscurity (death) is a distinct posibility

so you ask the doctor for a trip back home.

but you barely hear a what over the T.V's howl:

Fake

Fake

Fake



the Captain is lying face down in the sand,

and in that blue horizon the bassist

skips between rocks hunting crabs

somewhere in that sea someone says that:

"this is a mirage worth bragging about"



The captain raises his head and says that:

"people are just like sand, the more you squeeze

the more they seep through the cracks"

and squeezes harder.



"Like these ancient rocks" the bassist says,

and opens the door to where the orchestra plays

the last song of the night, the daunabe Waltz.

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