Remember our mechanic death by heretic
sex smell at the traintrack and it never paid?
The fitting room kidded a black booth a hoarse hip
A man named Thane followed as we power-walked
never allowed to be as loud as we trained
and then no sun left
the baby dressed as Jason
tared at the rain.
Getting our name out is never wasteful
I’m a bad rider and your black eyes keep moving
the prank call’s a clock
and religion’s disputed
as our pumpkin rots.
Wherein the bullshit
becomes the reality
a man in a cowsuit
runs up the highway.
sucking his teat.