No One To Hate Except

Yes, I Know. Death Sits With His Key In My Lock. Not One Day Is Taken For Granted. Even Nursery Rhymes Have Put Me In Hock.

There Is Rust In My Mouth,the Stain Of An Old Kiss.

Bike Downtown, Stick Out Tongues At The Catholics. Or Form A Piss Club Where We All Go In The Bushes And Peek At Each Other's Sex.

Someone Is Dead. Even The Trees Know It, Those Poor Old Dancers Who Come On Lewdly, All Pea-green Scarfs And Spine Pole.

Watch Out For Love (unless It Is True, And Every Part Of You Says Yes Including The Toes), It Will Wrap You Up Like A Mummy, And Your Scream Won't Be Heard And None Of Your Running Will Run.