| Lyrics |
(on Glitch, titled Image of Red Cut in Half; poem about Peter Frampton(
Who:))
Peter Framptonsits alone in his shriveled black home(hole?)searching his gruesomely mutated memory for some kind of clueas to the whereabouts of his penishe sits on baby, i love your wayand slowly unbuttons his (something) trousers
Slowly, he pulls down his tattered flaresand holds a mirror underneath what once wasbounty, bitch, man (undecipherable)(??) the mirror with his heavily inverted resolutionfifteen years of (penile servitude??)between the white (piper and rat heart????)and the murderer, it is possible to see(? ? ? ?)one martyr of an ancient landexecute this preacher's (???)oooh baby, I Love Your Way!he touches and he touches, he has nearly wonwith a slightly sinking forefingerthe man can't get off!and searches slowly across this train of thoughtin search of a better hope
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