They say you're chaos, grim, and flirty,
and that the words you speak are
*****
you spit ******, 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' *** 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 ******, 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
***** 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