I ride this broomstick high on *** or Lsd either
one,
it don't bother me, nothing does above the roar
of my heart shredding
and, what is more,
I have no license for this stick, which I
picked at random,
I am the kick, the jam, the butter and the ram,
the ruthless raider on the lam but on the stick
I am superman and I am so slick
it's sick.

But bedding down
I am the crying clown,
the fish without its bowl,
the end's in sight but not my goal,
unfinished artwork
I am sold, unvarnished,
tarnished by some trick,
painted
tainted by the stick,
no room for two upon the broom,
in the doom there are no friends,
only ends and untied things.