Carlos the Jackal

Several were shot to hell, brought through the back door, they sat down and plucked out their eyes
Shut up and bring me the head of the Spaniard on acid who stole every filling of gold that they dropped in my teeth
Notice how much she keeps tabs on the past-

-six miles, we've seen no signs of life
She laughed and stuck her gum
Against the side of my thumb

On the gearstick, passion is measured in Kelvin
You and your Icelandic ancestors' eyes

Too much exposure is likely to rip you from
Laurels that no one deserved
Least of all, you and your feeble desire for a million admirers who dote on dead and their corpulent filth

Notice how much she keeps tabs on the past

Oh, my traveling days cut short by the grave
Dismantled by fear and Japanese trains that fly through the air
And land on the hoods of Indian rickshaws
Their motors dissolved by all of the salt
That's gathered in Texas, where Portuguese widows
Eat catfish and curse us
American fruitcake she left on the doorstep
So foreigners hate us