I swept past Saint Francis
in clouds of brass on Lao Tzu's shin.
I sang to Plato's pen
a petrified black requiem.
I seeded a poet's kiss
to Nietzsche's mewling syphilis.
The mirror is a misericorde.
Scratch a Joseph and you'll find a Jospehine.
Scratch a t******* and you'll find an ovary.
Invert him if you can:
your peeling Schmerzensmann.
Q: "Who wrote Woyzeck?"
A: "Buchner!"
No, no, no! He stole it from God!
Thermodynamics is a thief's safe.
The trompe l'oile of a time-grave.
They're all its nom de plumes;
they're its inter-f****** dopplegangers.
Q: "And Madame Bovary?"
A: "Flaubert!"
No, no, no! He stole it from God!
Peeled open Eden with a sweet tooth
to core the apple of the mot juste.
But mot justes are membranes;
the corneas of my paper eyeballs.
Q: "And The Ego and the Id?"
A: "Freud!"
No, no, no! He stole it from God!
Who created all the sulkers?
Detuned the static in the sulcus?
Their choice is my voice;
this institution is a ring of heaven.
My true mouth has a billion teeth.
I'm a rainbow in a human sheath.
I'm twelve miles of missed smiles.
I'm the shadow cast behind your shadow.
So I understand when I'm not there
you think you don't miss me
and you think you don't care.
But drunk, alone, in a half-house,
I move the furniture when you fall over.
One day, you'll know.
"Ecce h***."
In dreams you'll crow
"Ecce h***".
in clouds of brass on Lao Tzu's shin.
I sang to Plato's pen
a petrified black requiem.
I seeded a poet's kiss
to Nietzsche's mewling syphilis.
The mirror is a misericorde.
Scratch a Joseph and you'll find a Jospehine.
Scratch a t******* and you'll find an ovary.
Invert him if you can:
your peeling Schmerzensmann.
Q: "Who wrote Woyzeck?"
A: "Buchner!"
No, no, no! He stole it from God!
Thermodynamics is a thief's safe.
The trompe l'oile of a time-grave.
They're all its nom de plumes;
they're its inter-f****** dopplegangers.
Q: "And Madame Bovary?"
A: "Flaubert!"
No, no, no! He stole it from God!
Peeled open Eden with a sweet tooth
to core the apple of the mot juste.
But mot justes are membranes;
the corneas of my paper eyeballs.
Q: "And The Ego and the Id?"
A: "Freud!"
No, no, no! He stole it from God!
Who created all the sulkers?
Detuned the static in the sulcus?
Their choice is my voice;
this institution is a ring of heaven.
My true mouth has a billion teeth.
I'm a rainbow in a human sheath.
I'm twelve miles of missed smiles.
I'm the shadow cast behind your shadow.
So I understand when I'm not there
you think you don't miss me
and you think you don't care.
But drunk, alone, in a half-house,
I move the furniture when you fall over.
One day, you'll know.
"Ecce h***."
In dreams you'll crow
"Ecce h***".