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Cannonball Statman
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Murder Therapy
A man with a badge stopped me in the deli today,
and asked me for any identity that I had.
I stopped, I was shocked, and I rustled through my coat to find my wallet,
as I listened to the voice seeping in from his radio：
'A shot killed her;
five feet and two inches of energy,
struck and stolen by a Magnum .44.
A shot did her in.'
Got out of the deli, and wrapped myself
in a blanket I found on the sidewalk;
sat down on the sidewalk, and watched the blind man across the street
making decisions. Now,
when I get home, I'm gonna sell my soul at the crossroads;
when I get home, I'm gonna deactivate my Facebook account.
When I get home, I'm gonna neuter my dog,
and then I'm gonna sleep for twenty-four hours,
and pray when I wake, in the fading shadow
of a strange, disturbing night,
I'll remain alone.
A shot killed her;
five feet and two inches of energy,
struck and stolen by a Magnum .44.
A shot did her in.
She's buried in the corner;
waits for dinner.
Doesn't speak Chinese;
she can't help decipher
the mysterious book I got in the mail.
The man with the gold
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in the mouth of the room sits
beneath the Martian,
the boy from space camp;
livin' poisonous dreams,
but he's a free man. Now,
I am a ghost, in the body of a human;
watch me crawl! Wait up for the morning.
I'm the center of attention in my mind.
Watch me crawl! Wait up for the morning.
I'm the center of attention in my mind.
The center of attention in my mind.
I'm sitting in front of a wall,
early on a Monday morning;
every day, those weird, pink puzzles of bone and ego
spill like manic paint
into the New York City transit system.
One goes here; one goes there.
Everyone is from somewhere,
and now, we are nowhere;
liquids and kids campaign for the right to be solid.
Bernard's pale lavender voice remains
glued to the back of my TV screen:
'Holy ghost, holy ghost, holy ghost!'
Bernard's pale lavender voice remains
glued to the back of my TV screen:
'Holy ghost! Holy ghost!'
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