and the cat started barking...
and the birds started laughing...
and the walls were all covered with insects
that crawled in formation;
spelling out things that I can't mention here…
in the wilds of san francisco neo-beat delusion
wandering bar to bar; drunk & distorted
weekend mission hipsters
stumble past the antique stores and bookshops
eyes turned blind
to the shopping carts and junkies piled in the doorways
like everyone here I'm damaged goods…
street-corner preacher tries to save my soul...
but i'm too cold for holiness
and I'd get sick of all the loneliness...
(the devil never lets me drink alone…)
and who am I to question fallen angels
when they sing so beautifully at 120 decibels,
chords ripped on steel strings?