the one with the bank of phones,
reminds me of my wife,
always busting
crooks and hustlers,
with her firm grip
and smolder.
She puts the foxy in moxie.
With her you’re glad to be caught,
and you’d almost pay to be punished
for being bad.
the one with the bank of phones,
reminds me of my wife,
always busting
crooks and hustlers,
with her firm grip
and smolder.
She puts the foxy in moxie.
With her you’re glad to be caught,
and you’d almost pay to be punished
for being bad.
How does it happen
that the one man
has left and is flying
while you, my friend,
stand gaping
in a cold Philly wind?
I sing my way loose.
I’m one with the air
and laugh
at the deflated plastic pile.
the riches he kept for himself
From flesh and dreams
to the scratching short of death.
One-Eye stubbed his toe
and it took everything he could muster
to avert the flow
and save the town from his tears.
is borne
by the shadow of our flight?
I know not,
but I know this:
the lower we went,
the closer we came,
and we crashed
when we hit the ground.