Spitting at the Cameras

Predicated on collective faith or nothing (whichever’s fine) There’s ox blood on the windmill, it’s in orbit day and night There’s a balcony adjacent where my old lady makes her calls And I hope she’ll be here with me when that ivory tower falls My pistol formed an eager hook and soon we were at war I briefly drank the sunlight then was grafted in the gore But I may have overshot it, for before I drew my knife I scared her with my dreaming, made her afraid of her own life The foaming formed the shadow of a dragon made of white Concrete floated in the streets and the fountains were alight We were spitting at the cameras and were whisked into a car Where no comfort ever finds you when you forfeit what you are --- SPITTING AT THE CAMERAS - Wooden Wand