Let Me Tell You

I hail from the green land Really green for sumptuous serenades But too many grey lepers lay on the succulent carpet And the milk of my land mills through rotten breasts The windfall of power brings pesty prongs to her nipples Let me tell you my sad story Not the blues from the evening guitar Listen to the pulse of time’s recording The many moans of mangled voices And the jubilant choruses of their silencers Those now mangled, the lathers The jubilant mounted through our greenest height Let me tell you my story, sad The blues, not from the evening guitar We talk tough for change They lay languid in old robes Expectant of business as usual but The beastly beards are shaven from goofs while asleep Change soon sweeps through this clime While the silencers snore off Let me tell you my story, sweet From the blue wake brass, not the night grey gong.