the song of the grandma of lost mirrors

 roll up roll up

dunedins carcass

gothic fruit roll ups

roll on,sing songs

take leave time off

dont decide

its the nature song

of the evening bride

ive walked the fog in these here hills

as the torn out stomach of alphabet vowels

ive lingered on longer then men i have killed

and wasted on thinner and layn around fatter

but still hot in thongs

my ghostly apparitive dance

and my appearnce in a fornicative glass

of old rum and coke and lord makes me frisky

i come on clean like he cums on my blackboard

thighs like flies on chalk

yeh im burning and im burning still

try to catch this wisp your wits outta sight

as it slips and it slides to the next brothel miss

who got strung out on teenage highways

outside milton town

the hotel holds still

its an grandfather puragatory

but young to me and treats me well!!!