Drunk And Listening To Some English Marches On The Radio While Far Away From You

march in b flat
march in e flat
march march
jolly jolly little feet going
the king and the queen
the queen and the king
joy ah joy ah joy
now a little lemon sadness
then a little lemon joy

even royalty shits green on some gray mornings
no matter
no matter
we’ve hooked the fish in the sky
little girls in orange dresses yet to bleed
march in b flat
march in e flat
march march
Sasson is dead
Winston is a pack of cigarettes; let’s
loose the flow
the elephant sleeps
Moses   has grey feet
march march
listen:   the horn in the sky–
the marble clouds polish angels,
evergreen thought huddle in midget repose and
salami dreams
march march
ta ta ta ta ta ta ta ta ta
  ta ta ta ta ta ta ta ta

          orangeade and pleasant ice
          fixtures pointed right
          warm-dog slippers chilled

ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
  ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
riduz riduz riduz

the pain is a bogged sword of splendor
the greasy night slides under fountains
the king is dead but remembered;
I loved you and the icecream melted
it was raining and I turned my angle upon the black and
webbed doormat:

any kind of music explains
most of it.