| Lyrics |
(M. Doughty)
Moon Sammy walks. Across the floor. Below the floor. There is a wall.
Behind the wall. There is a chair. Moon Sammy knows. The chair isthere.
But that's OK, that's OK, you can do that--if you're wound up, full oftension,incoherent. Your mouth is buttered with lies; you ask why, but youcouldcall it enigmatic; all your thoughts about the chair are full ofstatic.
Automatically your mind goes down the stairwell to the chair; yourbodysays Moon Sammy, can you come back?
Strum it.
Moon Sammy washes. In the sink. Below the sink. There is a drain. Thedraingoes straight. Into the sea. The sink itself. Is porcelain.
Obsess yourself with causality. The information you hear is aloophole,technicality. Behind every object is a mathematic; an obscuresubstanceinfused with a kinetic force, energy, an obscure conscience shoots agun atthe feet the world dances.
Babylon, mystery, mother of harlots, and all these abominations of theearth, that sits on many waters, drunk with the blood of the martyrsof
Jesus.
And I wondered with great admiration.
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