Abandoned Mansions & Halfway Houses

Church bells ring as a train chugs along

I can’t hear planes much

But every time I look up

I see one

And the birds stick to trees

Or a brief wispy breeze

The only ones higher are too busy

Looking down, circling

And all the clutter and clatter

Makes me want to batter some heads in

These objects look foreign, forged from a rolling pin

And they’re just pretty guts and grey matter

I don’t have the money to become an astronaut

So how can I know for sure that space exists

And if the final frontier is the mind

How far have we to go

After all I can tie my shoes with one or two bows

An every holy man seems to have

A wall street connection

And when Jesus says fuck

You know he means business

And my tax dollars just went off

And killed a little kid

If the world ended

When we all stopped dancing

That must mean we’re zombies

Especially the prom queen

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