Ode To The Blonde Dylan

Is your back against the record machine?
Do you need more heart in your monitor?
Are the doves hungry for you?

So, do you control all doves when you duck on your prose?

There are some bands you can't see without masks.
Swung low in the glum shroud of club light.
There are some bands you can only see in glass.

Are you the proud rumor in the belly of a pressing bill?
Twisted to the liking of a sure-fire and popular absence?
And, in such, eating your bones to no end sitting yourself lightly on the death in this world?

Will you die a slightly used death?
Will your mouth widen when you die?
Will your words widen when you're ghost?

Ears ringing with greed from the sting of string-thing grooves worn at either wrist.
A single singing confession machine pedestal-d.
Sitting yourself lightly on the death in this world.

Will you die a slightly used death?
Will your mouth widen when you die?
Will your words widen when you're ghost?

Or will you dwindle?
A spectacle of small honesty.
Are you this - that thatcher of absence?
Sow the pimp to his tender.
A soft pink coal in the mouth of your manager.
Explaining pop to your landlord or new bank branch manager.

There are some bands you can only see in glass.
Their freedom all over them.
Blurring.