Friday, March 18, 2005

Madman's deadman

There’s a dead guy in my wallet

Cut up by wear and tear

Of handing and share

Who’s crime: winning a ballet

Makes him die over and over

Raping morals in his existance

That he fought for in resistance

For he truly was a lover

Why is he there, why do I care

Carrying him around in here

And open it now and then to stair

At the grotesque man’s wear

As the days go forward and he

Finds himself less and less

Rotting away in disharmony

Crying in distress

His paper house a mess.