The Drummer (feat. Jeffrey Hasno)

4/4 Still a popular form Quadruped like a horse Galloping thru Missouri's geological warps Tall grasses and short, stamped flat by the force Traversing new grooves Two hooves find purchase and formalize new curvatures It's funny the drummer's feet are here from the eyes hidden Just two hands up top like a square with two sides missin At the bar request a water sparkling Pause to verify phone wallet car keys Imposed, the grid on the manifold, a face with two hands below As quiet as standing oak The frame, perchance it broke, would it make a sound Beige and the brown, bubblegum and daisy compound Blue berries, cherries, and oranges arrayed on the count And the gray that surrounds They say a giant gourd of iron ore Which from side to side was 90 miles or more One day did strike this flying orb Well on the other side it was night of course And hit the earth with such frightening force As to exterminate all the dinosaurs But isn't it great? I came centuries late! Instead of their fate I revel with mates in venues ornate Drinking glenlivet straight My breath, on escape, resembles a wraith (Lia twisted a j) And it's a hell of a high! I'm wealthy and dry Overwhelmingly blithe Enjoying periodic swellings of pride What's the good of telling the time The story I tell in my mind Embellish with relics and delicate lies Dodge truth like a big rock that fell from the sky Burn one for the one whose turn's come Burst come like nerves on the first gun Absurd, the world stunned by the purse The burst lung from the germs and blurred sun The church, asserts drum against cursing tongues whence the word sprung? The mirth is sucked, like mike, from love The first cup was spilt, the second was slurped up The third remains undisturbed, her door shut The fourth was bird dung Burn one for the one in search of A life that occurs with the sun The stern truss of the carriage The sure brush, the bearing Fern dust in the prairies, I tell you spread beauty A word few use or skew and use loosely For now it's the blue smoothie Tomorrow it's green from the broccoli trees Lots to carry, various alloys and barrels and animal hides Sticks like wicks burn down the candle of time Taps levered dispatch beverages Guitar cases filling with treasure, the drummer in good measure We who chart daily a monochrome grid In grayscale chainmail, spout cobblestone quips The old same old same can't complain and still does it On the weekend fill rooms to gorge on spilled colors From bells and skilled brushes Two by fours The slamming doors, the glaring windows' endless floors Ground to sky Pounce the ear, pounce the eye By the ounce I sell, by the pound I buy All around I fly Peddle quality wares in the towns I find Pocket squares tied in a boundless line Amaze