Silhouettes, dreaded swamps, oil baths from the factory lake,
I am dreaming of a painting from the spring of my mind,
I have defined the lines and now I shake.
Wretched palms, violent psalms, violet fades from the cheek of my babe,
I shall cover you and swaddle you in Eden's last light,
I shall hope for the end of dark, dark days.
Betty's bones, Betty's vultures of love,
Are circling upon her not yet forsaken face,
It is darkness that hurts her, the dark lord is a hurter,
Hurting even the waves that lap at the shore of the silver bay.
Silhouettes, dance depressed, I am
The shadow of the neighbour that stares
Into the curtains of pain, the light frothing crazy behind his brain,
curdling and dancing to his master's off-brain,
Paul is alive, Paul is alive! Open the fort!
It's on and on, and on and on.
The Great Debaser.