She came from dafodile land to peek and pretend,
She came to get her fill of kisses, Camels, and Kens,
Like coal in the cold and a cabin in the road,
And a stove on the hand of the black-knuckle brand mermaid weekend,
Swing low your chariot, your rifle is pointed at the sun,
Pick up the lighter and carry it to the open arms of everyone.
Mine is the less divine sign of the time it seems,
He's on the cusp of on the line of on the mean,
Now peek and pretend at the mermaid fiend,
The slow descent of the molotov cocktail queen,
Money every lying to buy, lying in the brine denying,
Decidedly wired tonight in the stymied mind frame.
But there aint no sense in washing thee,
There aint no sense is watching thee,
There aint no time spend not trapped inside this mode,
And there aint no master key or lock to crack this code.
Send your face's twisted grimace blemish to the devils in the sky,
Sell your body's wilting crystal palace to the gear or to the guy,
Your ugly junk love is shooting the sun,
And is burning the bun of the tune that the song bird sung,
And the over-cooked lamb, the super-charged man,
The drained butane and the click click click can can.
And when your mothers call,
The sky becomes coal,
Then the earth will open up,
And will swallow you whole.
