Bless All Useful Objects, The Spoons Made

We Are America. We Are The Coffin Fillers. We Are The Grocers Of Death. We Pack Them In Crates Like Cauliflowers.

Daylight Is Nobody's Friend. God Comes In Like A Landlord And Flashes On His Brassy Lamp.

Our Checks Are Pale. Our Wallets Are Invalids. Past Due, Past Due, Is What Our Bills Are Saying And Yet We Kiss In Every Corner, Scuffing The Dust And The Cat. Love Rises Like Bread As We Go Bust.

All The Oxygen Of The World Was In Them. All The Feet Of The Babies Of The World Were In Them. All The Crotches Of The Angels Of The World Were In Them. All The Morning Kisses Of Philadelphia Were In Them.

The Day Of Fire Is Coming, The Thrush Will Fly Ablaze Like A Little Sky Rocket.