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SLEEPAROUND TOWN   (Songs of Puberty)   by Sarah Kernochan    -    Page 23
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It is written it is written
As it was in the first scene
Roll the credits
We hear the theme

You sat through the news and cartoons
The ads have not prepared you
The bad reviews have not prepared you
Your prayers will not prevent white hairs
Turn up the track

Turn back, oh man, turn back
Get your money back
Pile past the turnstile
Pile into your convertible
Drive fast, safe at last
Past the broken white stripe
Into night blindness
Up ahead dead ahead
Is it alive or is it undead
A dreadful creation
Of uncertain derivation
The impossible crustacean
Dripping fishscales, bent nails
Purple dye, diagonal eyes
And negative vibrations
Out of the deep, out of phase
Crazed by some unspeakable dance craze
It speaks, it wets, it begets itself in threes
It breathes through its knees
Look at its hands!
Here is the church
Here is the steeple
A list of demands follows: People
Now hear this

You made me what I am
You made me what I am today
Born bad born bad born badly made
O come all ye haul me away

Give me your daughters
Let me swim in your pools
Gather by the waters and
Smell each other's shoes
Gimme a phone gimme some lines
Give me one good reason
Give me hope, give me a sign
In small denominations


© 1981 Sarah Kernochan

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