I heard the day of our night shall start with the setting of the sun
And the hardship of labour shall for three blessed hours be undone
I walk into the gossip
Fulfill my needs
Eat to satiate that which has flown
Rub my dirty fingers upon the denim that shall one day be cashmere,
and find the cash for the phone
Call Donna to say I’m tired
Call her every night
Beaches sound the same over the phone
Just a lot of laughter and sunlight and William (her boyfriend) feeling her up
So tacky
So she groans
So I laugh; an old friend, but fucking William:
I want to crack his neck and perform one million castrations with his bones
No I won’t no I won’t I shall descend into my bunk
And wonder
And wonder at the cold
And wonder that anything has ever happened before this date to make me feel
uncold
I remember my youth: seeing some great 'scape, some sinless plot of Dawn’s nape
Some stretch of white dawn lit tip or cape
Or horn or frosty bit of land’s last head of state
Seeing myself bundled
Some blind youth thinking that all land could just be surveyed
And not, you know, dug up:
Sure Donna you can borrow 200 bucks
Reagan sucks
The weather sucks
The blasted cold curls my hand
The quarters are hell to hold
The quarters are hell to hold
I want to talk to you now
I want to tell you that William is the whore
William is the whore!
The simpering beast in a cage
The bastard drunk in the rage
The blasted heath on the page
The fucking whimper from some sage pretty boy from outside of the city,
but close enough to know, man, that city girls are the only way to lose
yourself in darkness man!
William, you’re going to be losing yourself in darkness until the fourth wind
arrives…