Just another Sunday paddle boat ride
On a man made lake with another lady stranger
If I remain lost and die on a cross
At least I wasn't born in a manger
I can sense somewhere right now I'm being prayed for
Seems like I always arrive on the same shore
From where my sails set maybe with one less lady than my vessel left with
Is that a threat?
Oh I've stayed scarce this last year yes, but be assured and unrest
I'm unavoidable like death this Christmas is this twisted?
Why be upset
I never said I didn't have syphilis, miss listless
Hard like the bricks I pound my fists with
I mean she's hard like the bricks that I pound with my fist

This is the fall of Mr. Fifths
Forged for the hordes and the ladies and lords
Set with fat chords in modern English
I know I know

There's nothing more appealing
Than the sound of high heels
Down the marble tiled hallways of your district's one allotted city-funded
Steiner school bilingual or montessori
Followed by a single high pitch scream followed by breaking glass
But could your anger be mapped into an interpretive dance
To a trip-hop track?
Could it be bowed out on strings?
Or strung into a pattern for a god's eye to bring
To your alma mater's holiday fundraiser boutique thing?