Lazy flies all hovering above
The magistrate
He puts on his gloves
And he looks to the clouds
All pink and disheveled
There must be some blueprint
Some creed of the devil
Inscribed in our minds
A hideous game
Vanishes in the air
The vanity of slaves
Who wants to be there
To sweep the debris
To harness dead horses
To ride in the sun
A life of confessions
Written in the dust
Out in the mangroves
The mynah birds cry
In the shadows of sulphur
The trawlers drift by
They're chewing dried meat
In a house of disrepute
The dust of opiates
And syphilis patients
On brochure vacations
Fear has a glare
That traps you like searchlights
The puritans stare
Their souls are fluoresecent
The skin of a robot
Vibrates with pleasure
Matrons and gigolos
Carouse in the parlor
Their hand-grenade eyes
Invalid and blind
A hideous game
Vanishes in the air
The vanity of slaves
Who wants to be there
To sweep the debris
To harness dead horses
To ride in the sun
A life of confessions
Written in the dust
