time is an hourglass
glued to the table,
and the world outside
has gone quite mad,
my dear.

rats in the gutters
and a soundtrack of
nine millimeters
resounding through
the air; and didn't i tell you
life was beautiful?

the shooting stars now,
they look a lot like bombs
as they make their way
to the shrieking silence
of dry land.

the golden babies laugh
their golden laugh
as a million more are lost
or left for dead in the
alleys of my mind
and didn't I tell you
this would all be so very
lovely?

don't fret now, baby,
the skies will soon catch fire
and the madhouse
will bloom
and thrive.