City Calls - Swan Lake

Oh the city calls its wild wastes

Its fortressed breeze to help

In the park was Caravaggio’s Christ

Who fucked the police and put an end to the price of automobile radio heists

And did you want to help did you think you’d help?

But your help was a hurt

A motivational welt

Wounds and their salts

«And the ill milk in your bones

And you whisper to your knees

And your two broken collarbones:

You want to take a photograph then take a photograph of me!»