The sunken sulked their ways
In the concrete world of then
-do we remember, it's not a question-
The way it used to be
When mother smoked the days?
The lines of abstracts are odd
In a logical kind of way
-or so we presumed, we did, right?-
For when the day was born
The night was certainly not
Still the world kept on growing
Out of it bitter reformed lines
-our fingers crossed in multiply turns-
For we kept the car spilling dry
To keep our own engines blowing
