Phone Line

Touch tone plastic city
leafs of paper on the radiator trees
blind lunatics raging down the streets on unicycles

The air has been taxed
God is a phone call away
the sky remains a statement

Woke up in a tin can
woke up on the wrong side of eternity
woke up to the alarm on the edge of nowhere

I want to paint the town red
I want to eat a unicorn, well done with radishes
there is too much policy to deal with

I want to flow like a low density liquid
Penetrate the evening
Triangles abounding

I woke up in a tin can
as an echo of the night

There was an unruly presence on the AM telling me I could fly