Music By Bebe

A worm has its’ guile/in the way that it crawls/closing in on disaster./We think about God on Cermak Road/where mechanics sort through the past./Then sunshine pals grow intent/on closing the restaurant./Their sloth conjures a name/for the camera’s benefit/I’m required to sleep half a day./So why should I whine/when the carburetor freezes/I can still cartwheel in bed./Oh, what the hell is this,/it’s because most people love to sleep./Back in ’62/asleep at the presses/with support from malnourished trees./And Romeo still waits for the green light

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