And I think there was men before who were too scrambled
By Donna’s awesome awesome power
But did any of them ever fly?
And by fly I mean moving in and out of the crescents and into the indentations
and the golden crescents of the sky?
The pink flowers are dying but everything everywhere is occasionally getting
into the dying
See William, see that brown speck on top of that Irish island that is sure
proof man that everything is sometimes into dying
I never liked that co-pilot now even less
Since he took my laughter and bled it upon the altar of his own designs
Slit my joy’s neck
Drained it of its blood raised a sacrificial goblet to himself and the virulent
power of his own fucking loins
Decelerate decelerate
The aeroplane is diving
Out of gold
And if we go slow enough I might drop to bombay
I might sense the green air I might be dropped out of phase
I wish the pink flowers away