Underground_Network
July 6th, 2009, 06:22 PM
All the derelicts bastardize the army men.
An old jack-in-the-box lays in the corner
Of the room where the derelicts do their dancing,
A dusty red and yellow, with a green star on the side facing the wall,
If only someone would wind it up
Maybe a wind of joy would overcome the less fortunate,
Those we deem POWs, but the derelicts
Deem the 'fuckers who got what they deserve.'
All the derelicts bastardize their fathers.
The four-cornered billiards table,
Blue not green, stands in the center
Of the dusty old room,
Where the derelicts stand
And drink. And drink.
And after an hour passes
They put their drinks down,
Smile for a moment,
And then drink.
And drink.
All the derelicts bastardize the orphans.
A penny dropped on the ground
By a deaf, old wheezing derelict,
Lands on its rough edge,
But only for a split second
Collapsing onto its tail,
And displaying its head,
Matter-of-factly.
All the derelicts bastardize themselves.
One of the men with those shiny
Glass coverings that only fit
Over one eye, pulls open a window,
And a drop of water makes its way
Into the room, landing on a
Musty, old gray desk just inside
Of the window with the cracked glass
That that derelict man with the one glass covering
Over his left eye just opened.
A terrible odor permeates the air,
And the derelicts all sit,
Or stand, and they look at the ceiling for a moment,
And they smile, with their eyes gleaming
And their teeth shining a dirty yellow.
And they reach for their glasses
With extended arms, and keep on smiling,
And then they drink.
And drink.
And drink.
An old jack-in-the-box lays in the corner
Of the room where the derelicts do their dancing,
A dusty red and yellow, with a green star on the side facing the wall,
If only someone would wind it up
Maybe a wind of joy would overcome the less fortunate,
Those we deem POWs, but the derelicts
Deem the 'fuckers who got what they deserve.'
All the derelicts bastardize their fathers.
The four-cornered billiards table,
Blue not green, stands in the center
Of the dusty old room,
Where the derelicts stand
And drink. And drink.
And after an hour passes
They put their drinks down,
Smile for a moment,
And then drink.
And drink.
All the derelicts bastardize the orphans.
A penny dropped on the ground
By a deaf, old wheezing derelict,
Lands on its rough edge,
But only for a split second
Collapsing onto its tail,
And displaying its head,
Matter-of-factly.
All the derelicts bastardize themselves.
One of the men with those shiny
Glass coverings that only fit
Over one eye, pulls open a window,
And a drop of water makes its way
Into the room, landing on a
Musty, old gray desk just inside
Of the window with the cracked glass
That that derelict man with the one glass covering
Over his left eye just opened.
A terrible odor permeates the air,
And the derelicts all sit,
Or stand, and they look at the ceiling for a moment,
And they smile, with their eyes gleaming
And their teeth shining a dirty yellow.
And they reach for their glasses
With extended arms, and keep on smiling,
And then they drink.
And drink.
And drink.