Then I went down into the basement
where my friend, the maniac,
busies himself with his electronic graffiti.
Finally his language touches me, because he talks to that part of us which insists on drawing profiles on prison walls.
At that moment, poetry will be made by everyone and there will be emus in the zone.
Mist covers the ground
In the city
Engine rumbles quiet
As we drift by
I wish you could see it
Through my crooked eye
Oh your beauty
Plays me just like a guitar string [it's so true]
I want your touch
Oh how I want you far too much
She my baby
He?s my baby
Ahhhhh [x 8]
Days drift into one
It?s so pretty
Travelling we?ll burys Polly?s photofits
And this stolen car
Is loaded with junk
It?s so dirty
He?ll be the death of me
But that?s ok
I want your touch
Oh how I want you far too much
She my baby
He?s my baby
Ahhhhh [x 8]
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