Boys and girls with brittle bones
share scones with Peter cotton tail,
whose tired of all the bullshit;
"Let's cut right down to Easter morning."

And Santa's hot boxed his slay
to make a purple haze
on Christmas day, where the band begins
and plays and ends in drums
and lays it's neck on the line for a good
applause.


I've lacked in life, I've lacked in love.
I've lacked in water that didn't taste of fruitful theft.



But maybe when I look past all these reasons
not to look past all these reasons
then I'll see an egg trail leading to a hole,
leading to a pole,
leading to a winged fairy
with a toothy grin.

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