Carl Solomon Blues - Dear and the Headlights

«Backwash districts sprung from Ra’s bright hips

Reduced to silkscreen hand job new car ego trips

And it’s just endless combinations of the same old shit

Sloshing back and forth across some continents»

All that talking it ain’t got no use when it’s just mal-digestion that’s been

haunting you

Along with reflux opinions from your ulcer moods

You’re just a litany of horrors like the evening news but

Off somewhere in a New York flat, benzedrine derailed rants of immeasurable

frenetic praise

That cauterize before they save

All the truth now in how you’re lying there

Shoulder bladed nightmare, rug pulled from your feet

All the truth now in how you’re lying there in

Angel-headed elsewhere, so markedly meek

Slapped like a has-been by syntactic gods

Whom which the help you find your glasses but not your lower jaw

And you don’t want to look surprised but you’re in constant awe

Ain’t no fig leaf big enough to hide your diction flaws now

Teeming pools of alphabetic shame that spit out

Infinitely indolent verbs across your page

Who dig their cloddish claws instantly into some nouns legs

If once your manuscript just limped, now it’s become quite lame, but

Off somewhere in New York flat, they don’t deal with things like that, just

Immeasurable frenetic praise that cauterizes as it saves

All the truth now in how you’re lying there

Shoulder bladed nightmare, rug pulled from your feet

All the truth now in how you’re lying there in

Angel-headed elsewhere, so markedly meek

All the truth now in how you’re lying there

Shoulder bladed nightmare, rug pulled from your feet

All the truth now in how you’re lying there in

Angel-headed elsewhere for the past six weeks