You get the ankles

and I'll get the wrists.

You get the ankles

and I'll get the wrists.

You get the ankles

and I'll get the wrists.

You come down to this.







Nerves are up

and the eyes all screwy

Blood like a panful

of boiling ratatouille



My muscles in a mess 

like a mess of spaghetti

Hack through the mess 

with a greased-up machete



Hang from the axles of a box car

Follow the dotted line

Like a steer to Chicago

But to the hooks of the Chicago man



I get all tripped up

my eyes turn to water

rug burns from a shag rug

struck dumb in the presence

polyester burns from a jacket

rub the skin thin

break down in a diner

then I paid the bill



cashier toothpick stuck in the ground

tiny lawnmower to mow me down

I could get lost in a lunchbox

lie low in the mittens in the lost and found