I'm a sack of broken eggs...

They say I have strange eyes
and strange sound
like a deaf-blind mute that still
still
still
still
still
still
still
still
gives his senses a tickle.

Curled up on the floor where I belong...

She searches for holes
in the sore floor beneath her;
stomp stomp stomp stomp stomp

Let them brush your rock and roll hair...

The strawberries are in season
and the trees along the road sway
sway to the beat in the car
of hungover hearts leaving a good time
in a city that already feels like mold.