Hello? Hey, do you hear me?
Is there anybody out there, 'cause I hear only the statics
The connection is bad, anyway, I'll tell you something that will put you in the state of glee
I had that dream, a fat and hazy dream heavy and chilly as a structural brick
Today I woke up and saw a black, bony child, who enslaved my tonight's dream
I saw the small, white spots on the knuckles of his small, darks fists
as from a Live 8 poster
What does that live number eight thing to you seem?
Does it make a difference now, if it's a shoe brand or a cheap roller-coaster?
Go, ask ya mommy
She was probably squealing in front of her telly with her leather-coat on
eating conventional portion of Kellog's with her family still and silent like a tailor's dummy
Did your grandad slap her for that greenish smallish skirt as bright as neon?
Her parents should be first-rate puritans - sensible and nice
(to be truthful, even the thought of them makes me wanna vomit)
Or could she be with Dickie or Rustin or even Alexander the Great giving in to the vice?
Could she be sucking his cock and could he yanked her hair back hissing: “Stop it”?
Could she be an inexperienced virgin? Could she be a Janis Joplin fan?
Could she have a nickname of a “sugar-bowl”
for her appetising hips and sweet tight lips, a girl from a rusty, composed tea-set clan?
so if she exists, and as you do she does, go and ask her about that number eight show
Make her feel ashamed for the full bowl of cornflakes her own mommy had to throw
What are you mumbling or is that statics again?
Don't be offended as my mother doesn't know about the Live 8 neither
She sold her soul, memory and vagina to the bottle... you ask, when?
I dunno, man.
She is that kind of I-am-not-fucking-with-anything-but-your-brains queen
Partly because of her upbringing and partly against her own will
I mean, it just started from her pimpled-greasy-hair-breakable-nails fifteen
Preserving this corked joy of virginity is her mastered and beloved skill
Integrity is her deepest obsession
So after my daddy's attempt to tame it, the wine bottle became the exorcist
She herself is a bottle of fermented wine who makes no cessions
who believes that once deus ex machina will enter her like a streamer, like a fist
Like a corkscrew. My! Uncorked queen! Virginity is dead, long live the virginity!
...oh
I think I said too much
You'd better call one-zero-one
I think I murdered this by-product of the everlasting maidenhood
I think I still see that black, bony child - he hands me a sticky-reddish gun
I think I'm still sleeping, I think that too much rock'n'roll and Prozac didn't do me any good
Hello? Are you still with me hear? I'd better lie down furled...
Sorry, is there anybody out there? Or did I kill your mommy too?
I mean all this white noise and black children and daddy's debility at once appeared so untrue
So I think I did it. I killed your mommy. I think I killed all the mommies in the world.