Pomade

MADMEN

MADMEN

Madmen run this world,
witht their religious fantastic fanatics,
Grasping the arms of hallowed out husks, the animals inside their eyes have been culled, castrated, killed.
WHOA , joey says to blossom, a flower, a fury of fantastical fuming visions.

YES! YES!,
cries that ring,
PAST the empty echoed halls,
PAST the wooden cemented celings, high on high in the sky, floating
PAST a boeing 747, carying precious teeny boppers and disney wards,
PAST the sun, the moons and the sands of the sky, into the visceral, guttural, existance,
Dissolving into the universe in strands of prepubescent adrenaline,
sighing, sighs, on highs that never last long enough,

Yes there madmen are on the streets, hiding inside alleys ways and dark corners that corrigate from the rain waters,
Tears of victims, that splash on the faces on the ill advised reporter covering the story that will eventually make the six oclock news,
Blasted into "living rooms" in tenaments,
a block away,
that will stuff the TV, frozen, ill packaged rabit entrailed meatloaf into their mouths and disgustingly say
'What a pity" or "No ones safe."

Damn right you maniacs, you heathens, you freaken lunatics,

no ones is,

cause their are madmen running the streets,

MADMEN dressed in blue jeans,
MAD MEN dressed in blue uniforms,
MADMEN screaming at the corners about the new age nazi zionist alien agenda,

What the fucking hell?
Have we all gone mad?