Whaz’ Zat

Lightning slaying shadows in the tremors of the night
While he creeps among the alleys, bringing fear before the fright
She sleeps in tattered trousers in the ballroom's decadence
Moaning gently of her dreaming by escorted precedence

Antiquated babblings from a constant stream of thought
Sensitively wringing out the rags that he has caught
Patting yet her bulging belly, she so slowly cries a smile
In anticipated suffering of her slowly growing child

He is speeding in a vacuum, going nowhere but of course
He might believe in discipline of a bloody kind of sort
Naturally a state of race, a never changing spate of hate
While everything in some weird way does manage to relate

To her, it doesn't matter more, its chasms have been leapt
And she leans upon the skepticism of her chosen fate
Stand tall, you spittle smattered son of man
Stand up, you hear them say to slap you down
And kick your teeth and smile across the bay

Irrelevant eloquent pleading wasn't what she did this year
She passed it by and told a lie and shed a crystal tear
For him to see from valley's edge, from plateaus in the sand
And yet he has beshit himself for being just a man

A bragging crowing sort of twit, a castoff shade of pink
Who's brought himself and all the rest onto the very brink
Yet that magic urge continues on and plays continuum
A song of pleasure and of pain until that will be done