you

unmasked burglars run into the lounge.
outside the door the soft corns sell
uniformed men on chairs with little sponge.
you see the sight but you can't tell,
whether it's the siren or the bells
that's busting your ears from hell.

gold lady drink whiskey but waste it more.
you meet her but manage to dodge her sight.
last time around she talked about Al Gore.
how he met his downfall with all his might.
the conversation almost got into a fight.
back in your mind you always knew she was right.

the cup looks bright but the coffee looks dim.
one sip of it and it blows off your christian side.
gotta finish it but the coffee's still up to the rim.
poisonous as it looks, ok just one big stride.
one gulp and all will be under your skin hide.
i'm as sure you don't wanna take the ride.

the old bookstore's just around the corner.
pick up a pornographic mag, nothing else to do.
they say all the books here are from one doner.
ok, that mag is sold in numbers of millions of forty two.
but there's also the Time and Fortune, now c'mon you!
and yea the Bible is also sold in dollars too.

the music is low and the statue is broken.
wind buzzes mildly on left side of the room.
the wooden wallpaper has a message but it's hidden.
Sarina's lonely ghost is about to loom.
the silver sidelights are on but they only gloom.
gotta clean the mess but you won't find the broom.

your honesty seems to have a stain of ugliness.
your admirations seems to have no decent admiralty.
your wealth seems to have its own kind of poorness.
your actions never seem to have any singled similarity.
your thoughts never seem to have any chopped diversity.
oh, you just seem to fall on the dark side of negativity.

files stranded and unstacked on your desk.
blue telephones ringing and left unattended.
holiday plans pinned up for Belfast and Budapest.
you sleep on the couch throw ties on your bed.
the notification papers' on the shelf unhanded.
so you pick up the plane for Europe but it never got landed.