TEMPORARY INSTRUMENTAL
I'm a nervous wreck right now and there
will soon be words to this routine I know.
The killer in the kennel is honing up his
knife. I like this not at all. I'm thinking of
just jumping in that truck now filled with
laundry and just hoping it drives away.
-
I think I'll run to New Hope and just sit there
with some gay guys honing up their strope.
We can party with some new beer, and I
can pick up all the girls they never will.
Good deal for me, no? Yes, yes, I see.
-
Now's the time for mugging and for theft.
The Constable in his yellow car will have his
hands full enough with screaming wives and
jealous men, things I can't be bothered with.
He'll never see me leaving that screwy town
with both the river and its banks in each
my pockets. It's a temporary instrumental
I'll be playing, knowing full well there will
be words to be coming for sure.
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