Lightning slaying shadows

In the tremors of the night

While he creeps among the alleys

Bringing fear before the fright



She sleeps in tattered trousers

In the ballroom's decadence

Moaning gently of her dreaming

By escorted precedence



Antiquated babblings

From a constant stream of thought

Sensitively wringing out

The rags that he has caught



Patting yet her bulging belly

She so slowly cries a smile

In anticipated suffering

Of her slowly growing child



He is speeding in a vacuum

Going nowhere, but, of course

He might believe in discipline

Of a bloody kind of sort



Naturally a state of race

A never changing spate of hate

While everything in some weird way

Does manage to relate



To her it doesn't matter more

Its chasms have been leapt

And she leans upon the skepticism

Of her chosen fate



Stand tall, you spittle-smattered son of man

Stand up, you hear them say

To slap you down and kick your teeth

And smile across the bay



Irrelevant eloquent pleading

Wasn't what she did this year

She passed it by and told a lie

And shed a crystal tear



For him to see, from valley's edge

From plateaus in the sand

And yet he has beshit himself

For being just a man



A bragging crowing sort of twit

A cast-off shade of pink

Who's brought himself and all the rest

Unto the very brink



Yet that magic urge

Continues on and plays continuum

A song of pleasure and of pain

Until that will be done