A Feast Of Friends
Wow, I'm sick of doubtLive in the light of certainSouthCruel bindings.The servants have the powerdog-men and their mean womenpulling poor blankets overour sailors
I'm sick of dour facesStaring at me from the TVTower, I want roses inmy garden bower; dig?Royal babies, rubiesmust now replace abortedStrangers in the mudThese mutants, blood-mealfor the plant that's plowed.
They are waiting to take us intothe severed gardenDo you know how pale and wanton thrillfulcomes death on a strange hourunannounced, unplanned forlike a scaring over-friendly guest you'vebrought to bedDeath makes angels of us alland gives us wingswhere we had shoulderssmooth as raven'sclaws
No more money, no more fancy dressThis other kingdom seems by far the bestuntil it's other jaw reveals incestand loose obedience to a vegetable law.
I will not goPrefer a Feast of FriendsTo the Giant Family.