they weren’t quite ready for what he had to say
reactions were a silver doorknob shined and covered with silk socks
i’m staying in tonight; armed with a schnitzel and a cleanskin shiraz
saying ‘fuck you’ to the night and paying thy poverty
the wolves won’t even touch him; cower down and sniff my dirt
granted entry to your scene, i put my ear to the ground expecting thunder
and instead i grasp at lightning sparks from his posterized chest
tattooing gig posters on your forehead and still they won’t go