The country lost their beauty queen

The same day passed the Prince of Pleasure

Televisions will capture the red eyes of gravediggers

And the dried

The prunes and the oppressed

Smoking cigarette butts down to the ground

Mutiny will be on layaway

Shooting in streets and dying local band posters

The road lion growls

Police stay home, your brothers in arms will die.

So it goes. How useful is that?

Up came the sun, down went the stars.

The water calmed still, and loud were the cars.

English Translators dance in Russian studios.

Loudspeakers play the silent songs nobody knows.

The woman in the yellow beaded necklace plays with her silver rings rolling across her white fingers.

Wafting down the black nighttime cool air you can hear the rhythm choir of a thousand black children

singers.

That’s my town.

Isn’t great.

I’ll show you the strangest kid I know.

Purple, red, fast and yellow.