They say you're chaos, grim, and flirty,
and that the words you speak are
dirty
you spit vulgar, flip the birdie
Creep like a callous beetle
over the Earth
(Or more specifically, the city)
Well I said I'd slap you silly
Shove your hands into dirt, nails
gritty
"That's what you get fer stayin' in this
city.
Now get yer defilin' ass back home"
(What a pity)
Then I'd say "Son, yer swinging high, and soon
you'll be dry
I've had up to here with the aches
and the sighs
You pack your bags while I shout with
my eyes,"
and you don't want that, as neither
do I
Even so, of these things I must say
clear:
My worry for you is more than
just fear
Besides vulgar, I hear moans of
tedium, my dear
And so I feel life is better for you
far from here
Away from here, go on, away
from here, from this
dirty city
Show then to those who say "he
couldn't be"
that "be" could only mean anything
you'd want it to be
And you'd never again "be"
a creeping beetle of the city
but the sonorous sliver that warms
the Earth
on a darkened day