Horses
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Soft is the night
further on across the river
tearing at the seams
it's lost/ behind the dawn.

Last night he dreamt of horses
but all their legs were broken.
The Rainman's coming home.

Dream no 33
making love to Lulu.
Golden years, heavenly bouquets.

Sixty bridges to cross ahead
(made of sugar-free dessert)
and live a life in tattered psychedelic furs.

There’s a heat wave
and the ice machines don't seem to work
like a stubborn pain
and a softer touch that comes and goes.

Some air to breath, an itch to scratch
just dip your cup deep in the punch
and take a sip to help you
tranquilize your mind.

Through the glass panes
playboy posters smeared with glycerine
just a soft touch
and the walls all turn to plasticine.

Some air to breath, an itch to scratch
just dip your cup deep in the punch
and take a sip to help you
tranquilize your mind.

Beside the blinking traffic lights
where marble statues once stood
some hobo is trying
to set the snow on fire.

Scented tissues, lonely girls
lying on their feather beds
they touch themselves embarassed in psychedelic furs.

Licence : All Rights Reserved


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