blue walls who paints a
room that blue
she ODed in his apartment
mouth fuckin’ foamin’
red shirts, just washed em’ too
What are we going to do with the guy in the
backseat
in the trunk
He can’t live there forever
[mostly because he’s dead]
Scorsese, Tarintino a drop of
blood
suspended
or a fountain splattered against
the back windshield
the distance from the chair to the screen is
safe
as the distance between me
and the motherfucker
who ball-gagged me
[what a fuckin’ creep]
we’ll storm his shop, mow him down, won’t know what hit ‘im
get medieval on his ass
Like Kingsman \ foot in the chin sliced through the balls
suspended
The distance between me and the real world is
safe \ You’ll never guess who
was playing us
all along the boardwalk he doesn’t expect to die
[come on, it’s so fuckin’ obvious]
but they don’t find his body until next spring
suspended
in water as it is
but they blew up the chicken man and the racket boys
won’t know what hit ’em
the distance between me and
Atlantic City is not safe
I’ve got a
little favor to do,
for a man who
won’t meet with me
[don’t you think that’s strange]
come on
everything that dies
doesn’t really
[I don’t really want to know
where they go
after the boardwalk]
(wouldn’t think about it)
wouldn’t think outside the screen where
my emotions are
suspended
and the distance is safe