We’re sleepwalking, street stalking
Through a paper town
Let’s shake our dripping boots
Let’s squeeze our sweatened coats
For it was a hot night
But why are my fingers clanking
From the cold!
Call it blood-letting
It is blood-letting

Look
We’re walking dead serious
About living
in the sand castles
They built us
Brethren, take your hands off your neck
Behold the red wine on your palms
Don’t lick, don’t lick the sore
It’s enough
That our teeth are set on edge
That our young heads can’t sit straight
Yet the beach is rife
With so much grey heads
Potbellies, buttoned up hearts
Who can stomach this!

When our eyes rolled into our skulls
Did anyone raise their brows?