This old goat with beard of grey
He turns his leather gripped cane
Those times you clapped and called for quiet
They’ve come to hold you, ain’t that nice?
He packs a fat oom paul to
Jib and make home-baked perfume
Sips froth from soft, warm joe
Snug eiderdown bedclothes
You know
You know the way that I...
Come on, you hermit
You never fight back
Why don’t you play with bows and arrows?
Why don’t you dance like
You’re sick in your mind?
Why don’t you set your wings on fire?
You slick back that wiry mane
A neat tucked slice
Deep trees sleep on the dank lawn
And scratch the slate
You finger down that waxen line
Between your breasts
A squeaky pain upon each breath
The plumbers left
You know the way that I feel
Come on, you hermit
You never fight back
Why don’t you play with bows and arrows?
Why don’t you dance like
You’re sick in your mind?
Why don’t you set your wings on fire?
Come on, you hermit
Why don’t you play nice?
Why don’t you toy with sex and violence?
Why don’t you stare back
Into my huge eye?
Why don’t you set my wings on fire?